


If I Close My Eyes (Will I see you tonight?)

by MadameBaggio



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: At leas I hope so, Dream Sex, Dreamsharing, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameBaggio/pseuds/MadameBaggio
Summary: It all started with dreams... Hot, intense dreams that had no place in their heads... But they just kept dreaming.Which is a way too deep way to say that King Éomer and Princess Lothíriel have been getting some pretty hot dreams. They keep seeing themselves with the same person, over and over again.But they don't know who they are dreaming about.It's okay. They are about to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm here.
> 
> I'll be the first to admit this is an absurd story, that makes no sense (especially if you take in consideration Éomer's honor and all...) But I couldn't resist -most of the time I don't even try anymore.
> 
> Basically I’m using this fanfic as a “study”. I have a hard time writing smut/porn/sexy scenes in general, so I’m trying now, with this. Trying not to think too hard about a plot.
> 
> Of course I want this story to go somewhere, but mostly Éomer is hot and I want to use that hotness here, so… Sorry? Kind of? Not really?
> 
> Anyone. Tolkien would forgive me. (Probably not).
> 
> I hope you can enjoy this absurd.

_“Éomer!” His name was a cry of pure pleasure and it thrilled him. He made her like this, his proper lady -so quiet and soft spoken- wasn’t that quiet on their bed._

_The sight of her under him was mesmerizing: her long, thick hair was spread on the pillow, the light from the candles revealing the red hidden in its dark color; her pupils were blown so wide, they almost hid the beautiful grey of her eyes; she was biting her plump lower lip, probably trying to hold back on her moans. He loved how she felt around his cock: tight, wet and so hot. She was made for him._

_He thrusted hard against her, knowing she loved it by the way her thighs squeezed his hips. He watched entranced as her tits bounced with his movements. Uncappable of stopping himself, he grabbed one of them in his big hands and gave it a squeeze, before flickering the nipple with his thumb._

_“Éomer.” This time she said his name in a moan._

_Éomer leaned in her direction, then bit her jaw on the spot he knew it drove her crazy. “What? Too much for you, Princess?” He asked, his hips still moving against hers._

_Her laughter was sultry and breathless and it almost made him spill right there. “I wouldn’t have married a Horselord if I didn’t like rough rides.”_

_Her words made fire run through his veins. “Minx.” He growled at her. “If a rough ride is what you wish, I’ll give you one.”_

_He grabbed her right leg and hooked her knee over his elbow, opening her wider to him. He pounded into her and her cries of pleasure got obscenely loud. However, Éomer didn’t care if she woke up the whole of Edoras; her cries were for him and he intended to enjoy them all._

_His name became a chant on her lips as her fingers found her nub. He himself had showed her that special spot._

_She peaked so beautifully that Éomer swore he saw Heaven._

 

XxX

 

King Éomer sat suddenly on his cot, his heart beating like he’d just finished a battle.

 

What had that been?

 

He could say it’d been a dream -since he’d been sleeping -but it’d felt so real. Too real.

 

It was as if he could feel the sensations on his skin -the sweat, the heat -, the smells -wax from the candles, lavender -but, most of all, he could feel her. It was like he was touching her skin, tasting her mouth; he could feel her cunt wrapping around his cock.

 

“Béma!” Éomer cursed as he got up from his cot.

 

He was rock hard and he felt like a green boy, who couldn’t even have one dream about women without risking spilling on his pants.

 

But… It hadn’t felt like a dream; it’d felt like a memory. A damn good one at that.

 

However, it wasn’t a memory, since Éomer had never seen that woman before. A shame, because she was beautiful.

 

Probably too beautiful for the likes of him.

 

Éomer shook his head, trying to disperse the self-pitying thoughts. What was wrong with him today?

 

He could see the grey light that announced the sun would soon be rising. His men would be up in a short time, preparing to leave.

 

They were getting close to Minas Tirith, on their way to Éowyn’s wedding. Éomer felt the familiar heaviness in his heart from thinking about it. He was happy for his sister -he truly was -and Faramir was a good man -he’d be hard pressed to find a better one -but it still meant his sister was going to leave him alone.

 

He’d be the only one left in Edoras.

 

At least the depressing thoughts had taken care of his erection. He was about to spend the day riding, a hard cock would be big inconvenience.

 

XxX

 

_Lothíriel gasped as he pounded into her. Her hands had nothing to grasp -the table’s surface was too smooth -and she’d probably have bruises on her thighs from where the table’s edge was digging into them._

_However, she wasn’t complaining; not with how he felt inside her -so hot, so big, so hard -or with the feeling of his breath on her neck, his hands on her hips and the sound of slapping flesh._

_Heavens, that man made her wanton. And she loved it._

_His hand glided over her hip bone, until he found her pearl and flickered it with his thumb._

_“Oh my…” She chocked on a curse. She hadn’t become that shameless yet._

_She felt the rumble of his chest against her back as he laughed. “What was that, my Lady?” He asked, his hips slowing their pumping against her, until they were just lazy movements._

_“Don’t stop.” She whined._

_“Why not?” He asked, his breath hot against her ear. He was still moving, but it was torturously slow. “You prefer to be fucked hard?”_

_She gasped. “Don’t say things like that.” She spoke, but -deep down -she loved his words and he was quite aware of that._

_“You love my words.” He teased, then bit her neck gently. “As much as you love being fucked.” He punctuated his affirmation with a sharp thrust of his hips._

_Lothíriel was so close she almost sobbed. “Please…”_

_“You’re my Queen. You never have to beg me.” He told her before pulling her face to his._

_She saw a flash of blonde hair before his mouth covered hers. It wasn’t really comfortable to kiss him like this, but she didn’t care._

_Especially when he ended the kiss, pushed her down until she was flat against the table’s surface, then proceeded to royally fuck her._

 

XxX

 

Princess Lothíriel gasped as she woke up.

 

Her heart was about to explode on her chest, her nightgown was bunched up above her navel and she was covered in a layer of sweat.

 

What had that been?

 

What kind of dream was that?

 

Lothíriel had never heard words as vulgar as those, and the act itself… What was all of that?

 

She didn’t even know men and women could do things like that!

 

_Or could they?_

 

The princess sat in her bed and shook her head. What kind of wanton and shameful thoughts were those? What was wrong with her?

 

And the feelings in her body…

 

She was boiling hot and could still feel fingers on her skin, lips on her neck. The princess was startled to notice she was wet between her legs, and she wondered if it was sweat. However, she was also throbbing there and didn’t want to get anywhere near it to check.

 

Her governess would rap her knuckles if she even dreamed about the thoughts inside Lothíriel’s head.

 

The princess got up from her bed and sat by her vanity. She picked her favorite hair brush -the one that once belonged to her mother -and started dividing her hair in locks, them combed then gently, trying to calm her thoughts.

 

She had many things to do today; Minas Tirith was bursting with the preparations of Faramir’s wedding to the White Lady of Rohan. Her cousin had always been loved by the people of the city and Lady Éowyn was the slayer of the Witch King; it was bound to be a big event.

 

King Elassar’s own wedding had been a grand affair, and, even though Faramir and Éowyn didn’t want something as grand as that, it was still the celebration of the union of two beloved figures and two great nations.

 

And that meant…

 

The Rohirrim were coming. She’d finally meet the men that saved her family in battle.

 

She’d finally meet the King of Rohan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos! I know the first chapter didn't give you all much idea of what was going to happen in this, so I appreciate the trust you're putting into my crazy idea. lol
> 
> Here's a new chapter for you all, and I hope you enjoy it was well.

_Éomer could never -would never -get enough of her beauty. His wife was the finest work of art in all Middle Earth. He thought her so fair, he doubted even an elf could do her justice, if they decided to paint or sculpt her likeness._

_He remembered the first time he’d seen her, and the first time he talked to her -those were not the same -; she didn’t think she was beautiful then, but he’d always been certain she was the fairest lady in all the lands._

_Watching her right now, he wondered how did he get to be so lucky._

_The candles around the room made her slightly golden skin glow. Her gorgeous hair was cascading down her back and he wanted to fist it on his hand and kiss her mouth until she was breathless against him._

_But he’d promised he wouldn’t move, even if it was slowly killing him._

_“Love…” He choked, as she undulated her hips again._

_“What was that, my King?” She teased from her position above him._

_There he was, sprawled on his back, as she rode his cock. She was gloriously naked, head thrown back, her hands grabbing his thighs, as she moved oh-so-slow over him._

_Éomer was sure he was about to die. He’d go happy, but he’d die anyway._

_“Faster, my love.” His voice came out as a breathy request._

_“No.” She shook her head. “I want to enjoy you tonight.”_

_“You can enjoy me faster.” He quipped from his place._

_She chuckled. “I prefer to enjoy you longer.” She moved her hips in a way he loved._

_His hands went to her waist by reflex. “Minx.” He growled. “You’re torturing me.”_

_She tut-tutted at him. “No, no.” She grabbed his wrists and leaned forward until she was pinning him to the bed. Of course, he could break free easily, but he quite enjoyed the way her tits were brushing against his chest. “Do you want me to tie you up?”_

_“You wouldn’t dare.”_

_She arched a regal brow. “Oh, I would. And…” She dropped her voice, like she was about to tell him a secret, “I think you’d love it.” She bit his lower lip and pulled gently._

_Éomer let out a long string of imprecations on his language and she chuckled again._

_His lady intertwined their fingers together and gently rubbed her nose on his. The gesture was so sweet -even in the middle of what they were doing -that he felt himself falling in love with her all over again._

_“What’s that smile for?” She asked, smiling back at him._

_He didn’t even realize he was smiling. “I love you.” He told her simply._

_Her smile got bigger, and she looked at him as if he was her sun. “I love you too, Éomer. I’m about to show you how much.”_

 

XxX

 

This time, Éomer didn’t wake up gasping and panting. This wasn’t the second or third time he dreamed of her; it was -perhaps -the seventh.

 

He didn’t dream of her every night, but it was almost that. It was driving him insane.

 

The worst of it were the feelings that came along; they were all to strong and too real for dreams.

 

When Éomer was just a boy, he dreamed he’d turned into a horse. For some reason, he remembered this dream well enough; perhaps because it was so simple. He’d run around the plains and he could smell the grass and the breeze. It’d been a pleasant dream, but he was aware it was a dream.

 

This felt different. The sensations were too real, like he was actually feeling every kiss and touch. But it wasn’t only that; he could feel how much he loved the woman he called “wife”. His love for her was fierce and intense, and there was also a sense of pride that came from knowing she felt exactly the same.

 

Every morning he woke up missing her so much, it was a physical ache. It felt wrong to be apart from her.

 

Éomer feared he was going mad. He didn’t know this woman and he’d never said her name on his dreams. She was a figment of his imagination and he’d do well to remember that.

 

It had to be Éowyn’s wedding; this was the only explanation. He was feeling lonely and fearing the future, and now his mind was playing games with him, making him crave a woman that didn’t exist.

 

He padded to the basin his squire had left on his tent, and threw water on his face. He had no time for this madness; he was the king of a country that was still recovering from a cruel war. The Mark had barely gone through winter and there was still a lot of rebuilding to be done across the country. They were desperately hoping for a better harvest this year, so they wouldn’t depend on Gondor’s charity.

 

Not that Aragorn made him feel like he was a charity case, but the Eorlingas were a proud people; they wanted to be capable of providing and caring for their own.

 

Éomer sighed one more time. They’d prevail and prosper again. They’d recover their herds and once again sell their horses, he was going to bring the markets back to the Riddermark.

 

They were strong people.

 

Maybe it was time to stop pretending he didn’t understand the not so subtle comments his advisors made about marriage. He knew they were nervous, because he was the only man left on his family and he didn’t have heirs.

 

Perhaps he should find a good match with a good woman, someone strong, to help him rebuild his country.

 

When he was just a marshal, he’d planned on marrying someone he loved and having a dozen children, but he didn’t have this luxury anymore. He didn’t have time to wait to find someone to love like his father had loved his mother, or like Éowyn had found Faramir.

 

A flash of grey eyes appeared on his mind and he shook his head.

 

He was done with this madness! She was not real!

 

And he was a fool for wishing otherwise.

 

XxX

_Lothíriel’s fingers tightened on his hair when she felt teeth; not enough to hurt -never to hurt – but enough to leave a pleasing sting. Between her King’s mouth on her tits and his fingers deep inside her cunt, she was on her way to a peak._

_She just wasn’t sure this was the most appropriate place for that._

_She was going to tell him to stop._

_In a minute._

_He twisted his fingers inside her and Lothíriel had to bite her lower lip to hold back a moan._

_He raised his eyes to look at her face._

_Her husband was a wild man. Not in the way those insipid, stupid Gondorian lords thoughts him to be; he wasn’t an uncultured savage. He was untamed, intense, free. He wasn’t a pretty lord in pretty clothes._

_He was rugged and still so handsome._

_She loved the golden hair she was clutching between her fingers, its length might be longer than what the men in Gondor commonly wore, but it suited him. He was so tall, and his shoulders were large and strong, just like him._

_However, what she loved the most about him were his eyes: the warm honey color that darkened when he was angry…_

_Or when he was aroused, like now._

_Those eyes were looking at her now, made dark brown by his desire. “Why so quiet?” he asked, letting her nipple go._

_“Why?” She arched a brow. “This isn’t exactly a private location.”_

_He shrugged his big shoulders. “I’m the king. Nobody is going to bother us.”_

_He sounded certain, like he normally did. Still, considering she was sitting on the council table with her skirts up and her tits hanging free, she was sure her concern was well founded. Even if her husband -sitting on his chair, with his fingers between her legs -didn’t seem one bit concerned._

_“I want to hear you singing for me.” He spoke, his voice going down an octave._

_Before she could protest that, he returned to his task with renewed vigor. His mouth latched on her nipple once more, teeth and tongue playing with her senses and his fingers crooked inside her cunt._

_Lothíriel was lost. She came with a formidable moan._

_“That’s my lady.” He praised, a satisfied smirk on his face._

_“We’re far from done, my lord.” She declared. They were already there, after all._

_“Is that so?” He asked bemused._

_She pulled him until he got up from his chair. Her hands opened his breeches fast -she’d got quite good at that, by now -and then she took him on her hand._

_“I want you in me.” Lothíriel murmured, eyes on her prize._

_“As my Queen demands.” He teased, way too cheeky for a man whose cock was on his wife’s hand._

_“I do demand.” She replied, pushing his breeches even lower._

_Her husband kissed her hard, then she felt the tip of his member at her entrance._

_“My love…” She murmured against his lips._

_“My Queen.” His voice was reverent. Then he pushed into her._

XxX

 

Lothíriel woke up, a name on her lips, but it never came out and she lost it. She knew it was there, she was about to say it!

 

But she lost it again in the hazy moment between sleep and full wakefulness.

 

This was getting out of control.

 

She’d hoped that dream had been an aberration, but it had not. She’d dreamed of that man again, and again.

 

_Her husband._

 

That was how she thought of him. She’d seen his face many times now and -in her dreams -she knew she loved his eyes and his smile.

 

She loved _him._

 

It was such a foreigner concept for her. The only love she knew was the one she felt for her father and brothers, and still… She knew she loved the man in her dreams just as fiercely, even if it was a different type of love.

 

She was losing her mind. There was no other explanation.

 

Her father had been giving her gentle hints that it was high time she decided to marry. She was past the age and she wasn’t even betrothed yet.

 

She heard the snickers of the other ladies of the court, how the great princess that thought so highly of herself would end up an old maid.

 

Lothíriel didn’t think highly of herself, she just didn’t know how to talk to those ladies. She was raised to be the lady of the house until her eldest brother married, so she dedicated herself to her studies since a tender age. She had many duties around Dol Amroth and her governess controlled her time with an iron fist. She hadn’t had time for frivolities as a young girl because she started running the palace when she was 15. Lothíriel knew little of what the other women talked about.

 

She knew even less of the things that happened in her dreams.

 

All she knew of men and women was what her governess had told her. Which mostly consisted of “stay away from men, or you’ll be sullied and shame your father’s name”. Idriel told her -repeatedly -that she should hide her body and only show it to her husband. She should be careful with her thoughts, no man wanted a vulgar wife. She had to be modest, reserved and -above all -pure.

 

She didn’t feel like this anymore.

 

Was she becoming a harlot?

 

Valar bless her!

 

The King of Rohan should be there any day now and she was quite aware her father wanted her to consider the man as a possible suitor.

 

She’d heard all the stories, all the praises sang to his name. Her own brothers greatly admired the man, and her father wouldn’t dream of marrying her to a man he didn’t respect.

 

King Éomer didn’t deserve a wife that had these terrible thoughts about strange man.

 

_He is not a strange man! He’s your husband! You love him!_

 

Lothíriel was shocked by the ferocity of her reply, how fast she’d defended a man that didn’t exist.

 

She was truly going mad.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I don't have a beta, so let me know if there's something terribly wrong somewhere in there. (Or if you want to be a beta... You never know...)
> 
> So... I've been reflecting about them, and while Éomer's concerns are of the practical nature (he's obsessing over a woman who probably doesn't exist), Lothíriel has other problems. I don’t know if I’m too far off the mark, but I wanted to show the difference, since she was raised in a society that tried to lock away women’s desires, like they were wrong and made them dirty. She is ashamed of what she feels because that’s what she was taught to do. She’s freaking out because she thinks that her dreams make her a terrible woman.
> 
> I wasn’t exactly planning on discussing this, but it kind of happened… So let me know what you think about it.
> 
> BTW, let me know your feelings towards this is general.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for the kind comments.
> 
> This one is only Éomer's POV. I hope you enjoy it!

_“Éomer…”_

_He never tired of his name on her lips, especially when it was soaked on her pleasure._

_There were many things he loved about his wife: her smile, her kindness, her brilliant mind, how she trusted him…_

_At first, he hadn’t understood what she’d seen on him. She was much more refined than he could ever hope to be, she was a perfect lady. However, he learned she also had insecurities, she feared not being good enough for him as well._

_There wasn’t a more foolish notion than that. His princess was perfect; made for him and nobody else._

_“More.” She begged._

_Oh another thing he loved: her taste on his tongue._

_It had been a long day, but as soon as he entered their chambers, it all faded away._

_Éomer had undressed her slowly, relishing in every inch of naked skin; then he’d laid her on their bed. He’d thrown her legs over his shoulders, and he could feel her heels on his back, and sometimes her thighs would clench his head. He’d put one of his arms over her hip to try and keep her still a bit, but her back arched off the bed every time he used his tongue to circle her clit._

_He loved watching her in these moments, even if his line of vision was a bit limited by their position. He knew she’d be grasping the pillows, trying to prevent herself from grasping his hair. She’d give up eventually, but only when she was really close._

_For his part, he was perfectly happy to enjoy her. By now he knew exactly what she liked, what made her moan or scream. Tonight he was on an appreciative frame of mind; he didn’t want to just fuck her and get it over with, he wanted to prolong her pleasure -and his, consequently._

_He lapped at her cunt without hurry, teasing her lips with his tongue and teeth. When she was drenched and asking for more, he slipped one finger inside her, pumping it lazily, and then moved his mouth to her clit._

_He played with it, using the flat of his tongue to circle it -slowly, always slowly -then wrapped his lips around the nub and sucked._

_Her fingers finally tangled in his hair when he pushed a second finger inside her, and let her feel a hint of teeth._

_His name had become a prayer on her lips and soon she went over._

_Éomer wiped his mouth on the sheet, then sat back to watch her as she recovered her breath._

_“I think…” She spoke, her voice soft and breathy. “That you killed me, husband.”_

_Éomer chuckled as he laid by her side. His cock was hard and demanding attention, but he was  patient man and they had the whole night. He just wanted her close now, so he pulled her to him, and smiled when she rested her head on his chest. “It wasn’t my intention.”_

_“Oh?” She raised her head to look at him. “What was your intention?”_

_He gently kissed her lips. “Show you how much I adore you.”_

 

XxX

 

Éomer knew his men were wondering about his mood, but there was nothing he could do about it. The dreams still plagued him, and the more time passed, the worse he felt. It was affecting how he interacted with the people around him, making him grumpy and more than a bit snappish.

 

He felt guilty, because it wasn’t anybody’s fault that he was an idiot, stuck on a woman that didn’t exist, but every day that passed he felt his heart growing even heavier. His mind refused to give her a name, even though he felt he knew it better than his own. He was starting to delude himself that perhaps -just perhaps -she was real.

 

It was beyond foolishness to hope for something like that, but Éomer wanted to believe the Valar wouldn’t be so cruel as to put this woman in his head, then deny him her very existence.

 

Éothain had tried talking to him a few times, tried to understand what could possibly make him quiet like this, but Éomer couldn’t tell him. What would his old friend say if he knew that his king was -likely -going mad?

 

Éowyn had also tried to approach him, but if he couldn’t talk to Éothain about her, he sure as hell couldn’t talk to his sister.

 

The problem was that Éowyn had started to assume he was depressed because of her impending nuptials. He wasn’t, Éomer swore he wasn’t. Yes, he was perhaps a bit melancholic with the idea of being alone in Edoras, but he’d never begrudge his sister happiness like that. He wanted desperately for her to be happy and he knew she would be happy with Faramir.

 

“You know, if you keep staring at the fire with a frown like that, you’ll have to convince Éowyn -again- you’re not angry about her wedding.”

 

Éomer sighed, even as his captain sat by his side. He should’ve known better: he and Éothain had been friends for many years, the captain knew him too well to just leave it alone.

 

This was what friends were for, but Éomer didn’t need this right now.

 

“It has nothing to do with the wedding.” He growled, since there was no point in denying his bad mood. He just wanted to make clear it had nothing to do with that, because he couldn’t stand to hurt his sister like that.

 

“Then what’s bothering you so much?” Éothain asked.

 

It was the worry on the other man’s voice that broke Éomer’s resolve. He had no idea he’d been sulking this much, to the point his old friend would come to him, clearly worried about him.

 

“I fear I’m going mad.” He admitted in a rush of breath.

 

Éothain’s eyebrow almost disappeared on his hairline. “Mad? What do you mean?”

 

Éomer sighed heavily. “You’ll think me a fool.”

 

Now Éothain looked very intrigued indeed. “I won’t.” His friend promised.

 

Éothain probably thought it had something to do with the war. Many of their men had problems with the aftermath of it; dreams plagued them and it was hard to let go of the paranoia and the fear that every corner would bring an attack.

 

Éomer knew for a fact that Éothain had nightmares about the Pelennor Fields, and for a while, the King also had those visions. However, it wasn’t his problem anymore.

 

Éomer knew he’d regret that, but he found himself spilling all of it to his captain. Well, an edited version, of course. He didn’t go in detail about what happened in his dreams -though he had a feeling Éothain could guess -mostly he talked about the woman his dreams had convinced him was his wife. How it was occupying his waking hours with fruitless thoughts.

 

“I miss someone who isn’t real.” He finished. “And I try to convince myself that she’s not real, but…” He stopped himself.

 

Éothain was looking at him in silence. He’d never seen his captain this quiet unless they were about to go into battle. At least Éothain wasn’t laughing or looking at Éomer like he was out of his mind.

 

“Say something.” Éomer asked, finally tired of waiting.

 

“I…” Éothain cleared his throat. “I’m not sure of what to say.” He finally admitted.

 

Éomer groaned and let his head fall into his hands.

 

“But…” Éothain tried again. “What if she’s not real? Do you intend to wait forever to find out?”

 

Éomer knew his friend was just trying to help and he appreciated it. However, he didn’t want to hear what he knew he needed to, that there were big chances this woman wasn’t even real.

 

“I don’t, Éothain.” He replied, even though he doubted his own answer.

 

Éothain clearly hadn’t been fooled by such an answer as well, but he didn’t press it right then. He just hummed, noncommittal. “What if she’s real? What if you actually meet her somewhere?”

 

Éomer gave a humorless laugh. “I’d probably throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the Mark.” He admitted.

 

The captain sighed. “That’s what I feared.”

 

“What?” Éomer asked confused.

 

“Have you stopped to think that you’re creating this image in your head, conveniently without a name, and at some point, you’re just going to see a lady, decide she’s the one, and act…” He cleared his throat. “You understand me.”

 

No, Éomer had not thought of that. “So you think I am losing my mind?”

 

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Éothain replied diplomatically. “Maybe these dreams really are some kind of message, and this woman is out there somewhere. But maybe…” He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe it is wishful thinking. We saw so much death and destruction, we lost so many friends and loved ones… We all want to find peace and be happy.”

 

Éomer sighed; Éothain was right. Yes, perhaps he wasn’t going mad, but he still needed to let this go. He’d never feel happy, he’d never find peace, if he kept his head focused on an imaginary person.

 

There was a country that needed him, and people that depended on him.

 

It was time to let go of the dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your feelings!
> 
> Next one, we have Lothíriel reflecting about it all as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments and the kudos!
> 
> In this chapter we have a bit of wha'ts going through Lothiríel's mind and how she's dealing with those dreams. At least Éomer has a friend in whom he can confide...

_“For Béma’s sake, woman…” The rest of his words were lost in a moan that came out more like a growl._

_Lothíriel shouldn’t feel this proud of his reaction… But she did anyway.  She loved how her powerful husband melted when she touched him, just like she did when he touched her._

_She’d never imagined that kneeling for a man would make her feel this powerful and free, but then again, there weren’t many men like her husband._

_They didn’t have much time -there was a feast they had to attend -but when she saw her husband dressed in all his kingly glory she couldn’t resist._

_She’d kissed him, pressing her body tightly against his, then let her hand fall to his member until she felt him growing hard under her touch, then she opened his breeches and got down on her knees._

_She’d never imagined something like this could happen between a man and a woman, but her husband had showed her many things. He was the one to do it first: he laid her down and supped from the place between her legs until she was boneless with pleasure._

_Eventually she grew curious to know if she could do the same for him. He’d assured her he didn’t expect it from her, but she’d wanted to try anyway._

_She learned she loved the power it gave her over him._

_By now she knew what he liked better than he did. If they had a lot of time to do this she’d go slow and tease his cock with her tongue. She’d lick him from base to head, then lavish attention to the tip. Sometimes she’d kiss it gently before swallowing him whole._

_Today she just took his cock into her mouth and sucked in a way that had her husband cursing like a mad man. She used her tongue as she bobbed her head. He was big enough she couldn’t take him completely in her mouth, so she also used her hand on him._

_“Lothíriel…” His voice was ragged and rough._

_She hummed around him and he grasped desperately at the wall, because he couldn’t grab her hair. Normally she wouldn’t mind, but they did have to be somewhere after all and it took her a long time to arrange her hair like this._

_“Lothíriel, I’m about to…” He gasped when she sucked him harder._

_He always warned her when he was about to spill, so she could stop, but today she was feeling daring, so instead of stopping she just kept going, sucking him and moving her hand on him._

_“Lothíriel!” His voice was a bit desperate now, on the brick of release. “I can’t anymore, I…”_

_He didn’t have to wait. She just raised her eyes to his, so she could see the answer in them, and with a loud curse he finally came._

_She took it all, and when she was sure he was finished, she got up. Lothíriel observed as he leaned against the wall, feeling smug by the fact that he apparently couldn’t keep standing on his own._

_“See something amusing, my lady?” He asked, still trying to catch his breath._

_“Not at all, my lord.” She replied with a cheeky grin._

_Lothíriel yelped when he pulled her to him and kissed her until she was breathless._

_“The feast.” She protested weakly._

_“I’m afraid we’re going to be late for it.” He said, not sounding apologetic at all. “And I’m about to ruin your hair.”_

_She couldn’t say she cared._

 

XxX

 

Lothíriel put down her charcoal and looked at the face she’d drawn. _His face._

 

She was starting to think she was truly losing her mind, but she wanted to remember his face.

 

She wasn’t a great artist, but she could do faces well enough. She thought she wouldn’t be able to draw him properly -he was a dream after all -but once she started it, it was as if she was possessed. She remembered everything about him: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the strength of his jaw… When she finished it, the picture made him look more real, less like a delusion.

 

She’d done it; she’d draw him. It wasn’t perfect, as previously said, she wasn’t a great artist, but it was good enough. She could recognize him perfectly.

 

The man her dreams referred to as her husband.

 

Lothíriel let her finger trace his cheekbones, even as she called herself a foolish girl. He wasn’t handsome, not really. Her brothers were handsome, with their dark hair and grey eyes. The Swan Knights were handsome, with their clean faces and polished words.

 

But now she was only lying to herself. He may not be like the man of the Gondorian court, but he was handsome. In a way that was totally his.

 

Lothíriel got up from her chair and turned her back to the drawing. She went to the basin and washed her hands.

 

She had to stop this.

 

Every day she spent thinking about this man and the dreams she had about him, it was another day she was bringing shame to her family’s name. She shouldn’t be wasting her time on an imaginary man, because soon she’d have to marry a very real one. Her behavior on those dreams was positively vexing and shameful.

 

She looked at the drawing once again. She was going to burn it!

 

Decision made she turned to her fireplace. Of course, it was unlit, since it was still far from winter, but she’d just put it there and use a candle to burn it. It’d be less messy that way.

 

Or it would be if she could put the damned drawing there.

 

She couldn’t. She kept holding it tightly between her fingers, until she turned around, walked to her writing desk and put it there gently.

 

Lothíriel sat, then let her head fall, hiding her face between her arms. What was she to do?

 

There should be an answer to all of this, some way to make these dreams go away.

 

But then again… Who would she ask for help? She had no close friends, and she couldn’t talk about this with her family or her governess.

 

If she was going to solve this, she’d have to do it alone.

 

A knock sounded on her door and she put the drawing on a drawer and closed it quickly, fixing her hair -even though it wasn’t messy. “Come in.” She called, standing up.

 

The door opened and Helga -her brother’s wife -poked her head in. “Hello, Lothíriel. Do you have a minute?”

 

Lothíriel smiled at the older woman. “Of course, Helga. Como in. How can I help you?”

 

Helga cleared her throat, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “I was sent by your father.” She admitted.

 

Lothíriel was puzzled. “Is something wrong?”

 

Helga sighed and sat down on the chair closest to Lothíriel in what could almost be called a sprawl.

 

The princess really liked her sister by marriage. Helga was older than her by seven years, and she was different from the other ladies of the court. She was actually considered to be loud and too opinionated and not a proper lady by many.

 

However, Elphir loved Helga dearly, and refused every single advice about finding a more “proper” match for a prince. Lothíriel was glad for her brother; he had a wife that truly loved him and a lovely son.

 

But… As much as Lothíriel liked Helga, they were two completely different women and hardly spent any time together, since her sister-in-law took care of the palace in Dol Amroth and Lothíriel had been taking care of her uncle’s place Minas Tirith for the last three years.

 

Why would her father send Helga to talk to her?

 

Helga was clearly unhappy with the situation, but something in her way, her posture, made it look like she was embarrassed in someone else’s behalf.

 

What did father want?  Lothíriel thought once again, confused.

 

“Your father…” Helga took a deep breath. “He told me you are… Aware of…” She huffed frustrated, even as she tried to choose every word carefully. “He believes you know he’d like to see you married -or at least betrothed – to the King of Rohan.” She finally finished in a rush.

 

Lothíriel wasn’t sure if this was a statement or a question, and it took her a second to grasp what Helga was saying.

 

“He…” The Princess cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, father may have expressed some hopes in that regard.”

 

Helga arched a brow as she looked closely at Lothíriel. “What about you? How do you feel about this?”

 

“How… I feel?” Lothíriel was bewildered.

 

“Yes. Do you want to marry him?” Helga prodded.

 

Oh Valar… “I’ll do whatever is best for Gondor and our alliances.” It was a very good answer, diplomatic.

 

Helga didn’t seem to think so, since now she was frowning. “But you don’t know the man. You may not like him when you meet him.” She offered.

 

“That’s possible.” Lothíriel agreed carefully. “However, father thinks highly of him. And so do my brothers.”

 

“I know. But what about you?” Helga insisted. “Isn’t there anyone you think highly of?”

 

Lothíriel immediately thought about the man of her dreams, the one who loved her so passionately, so intensely, so truly.

 

“No.” She said firmly. “I’ll do my duty as a princess. If my father thinks the King of Rohan is a good match, then he’s probably right.”

 

It was time to let of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter there will be a turning point on those dreams!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Let me know your feelings.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> This chapter is just a short interlude, but I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments!

_Éomer sighed, feeling totally at peace. He’d never imagined he’d have moments like this; when he’d be completely at ease. He thought there would always be another battle, another enemy, another threat in the shadows._

_After the end of the War of the Ring, he expected things to get chaotic, and for peace to be an elusive dream. It hadn’t been; he’d been wrong._

_He -a son of the Riddermark, a child of war -lived on a land of peace now. At least as much peace as Middle Earth could boast at any given time._

_Éomer was fortunate that his peace resided with him, right now._

_His Queen._

_She could make him do anything she wanted; the power she had over him would be frightening, if it wasn’t for the fact he knew she’d never abuse it. She took care of him, and loved him in a way he never expected to be loved by anyone._

_He felt her fingertips on his temple, and felt the vibrations on her humming. He’d been ready to have a quick bath before going to bed, until she arrived and joined him. Now they were together, relaxing on the warm water; his Queen had her back against the tub’s walls and he was resting on the cradle of her thighs, his back to her chest._

_She’d helped him wash his hair and his back, then commanded him to lay back and relax. How could he say no to that?_

_Éomer closed his eyes as she continued her humming, fingers gently caressing his temple, face and neck. His own hands had found her legs and he was trailing his fingers up and down them._

_“You’re smiling.” She whispered against his ear, like she was telling him a secret._

_Éomer turned his head, until he could look into her eyes. “You make me happy.”_

_She bit her lower lip. “Terrible man.” She admonished gently. “You make me happy too.”_

_He smiled got bigger, as he lifted his hand to her face. “I love you, Lothíriel.” He murmured against her lips._

 

XxX

 

Éomer almost jumped out of the bed, his heart close to exploding inside his chest. “Fuck!”

 

XxX

 

_Lothíriel waited on the top of the steps, her eyes fixed on the distance._

_She could see her husband entering the city, his riders right behind him, but she’d not be calm until she was sure he was unharmed._

_The old housekeeper was smiling indulgently by her side, murmuring something about young lovers, but all Lothíriel could think about was seeing him._

_She needed to be sure he was fine. She hated when he left for patrols. He was the King! He should do Kingly things and stay with her._

_Of course, she wouldn’t love him as much if he was the type of man to hide behind walls, but still…_

_He finally rode closer to the steps. She’d never seen her husband dismount his horse so fast. He all but threw his helmet to a squire and climbed up the steps determinately._

_Lothíriel was barely prepared for him to pick her up. She squealed and would have chided him, if his mouth had not found hers a second later._

_His arms were securely closed around her legs, and it felt so weird to be ‘taller’ than him, but soon her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him too, because she’d missed him._

_“Hello, my love.” He smiled up at her, his arms still holding her tight._

_Lothíriel laughed. “You’ll be the death of me, Éomer.”_

 

XxX

 

Lothíriel sat on her bed, hands grasping her nightgown over her chest. “No, no, no!” This was not happening to her!

 

XxX

 

Éomer though he couldn’t feel worse about this whole mess. Well, apparently he shouldn’t tempt fate, because he felt much worse right now.

 

_Lothíriel._

 

That was the name he’d called in his dream. And he knew of a lady by that exact name, even if he’d never met her.

 

Béma, what a mess!

 

However, now he had a name to go with the face on his dreams, so he decided to take some precautions. Meaning, he needed Éothain’s help.

 

He found his old friend talking to some of the other men. “Éothain.” He called. “A word, please.”

 

Éothain approached him, a concerned frown on his face. “Yes?”

 

“I have a problem.” He admitted on a rush.

 

“Alright… What problem?” Éothain asked carefully.

  
“Well, I had a dream this night… And now I have a name.” He said straight, because he needed to get it out.

 

That made curiosity take over his friend’s face. “What name?”

 

“Before I tell you… I’ll describe her for you.” Éomer told him. “Because I have a feeling I’m about to see her, and, in case I do…”

 

“You want me to confirm it for you.” Éothain guessed.

 

“Exactly.” Éomer sighed.

 

His friend took a deep breath. “Fine. Tell me what she looks like.”

 

“She’s this tall.” Éomer started slowly, his hand showing her petit frame -she barely hit his chin. “Her skin is lightly gold, like she spends time under the sun, but not too much. She has freckles on her nose, a dimple on her chin, and one on her lower lip.”

 

He wouldn’t describe how he loved that particular dimple; how he loved to tease it with his teeth or tongue, or how he loved how full her lips were.

 

“She has grey eyes, but sometimes they look more blue.” He continued. “Her hair is thick and a deep brown color, but in the sun, you can see some red in it. Just a bit.”

 

“Right…” His friend drawled. “Anything else?”

 

There were many things Éomer could also describe: she had a beauty mark on her left breast, and dimples on the base of her spine. She was all lush curves and silky skin.

 

But those things he couldn’t tell his friend.

 

“She has a small mark on her left brow.” Éomer finished. “A very small scar. Right here.” He touched the end of his own brow to show the place. “It’s all I can think about.”

 

“A scar is quite a distinctive mark.” Éothain conceded. “So… What’s her name?”

 

Éomer took a deep breath. “Lothíriel.”

 

Éothain frowned. “Why does it sound so familiar? I feel like I’ve heard it before…”

 

Éomer waited in silence, to see if his friend would figure out on his own.

 

“Wait. Isn’t that the name of…” Éothain’s eyes became round in his shock. “Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

 

“That was the same conclusion I got.” Éomer admitted.

 

“Well, that’s rich.” Éothain groaned. “But… Well, I got the impression he really wanted you to meet her, so…” He trailed off.

 

“Yes.” Éomer sighed.

 

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” Éothain asked confused.

 

“What if we get there and she has black hair and brown eyes?” Éomer asked. “And if she’s just like in my dreams… How can I look at her -at her father- knowing that…”

 

“I understand.” Éothain assured him. “But we’ll be there tomorrow.” He reminded him King. “You’re about to get all the answers you want.”

 

Yes, but Éomer feared these answers.

 

XxX

 

This was madness. She’d finally lost the last trace of sanity.

 

She called the name of the King of Rohan in her dreams!

 

What was she to do? The man would be there on the next day, likely to court her, and she’d been dreaming about another man…

 

This had gone too far.

 

She wanted to be relieved that this last dream had been less… Less vulgar, but the feelings…

 

How could she be at peace when she was awake, when in her dreams, she felt so loved by that man? Every minute she spent awake, it felt like she was wasting time away from him.

 

However, she would try to see the bright side in this: King Éomer would arrive the next day. This would surely put a stop to the dreams.

 

It had to.

 

She just had to wait one more day. Tomorrow she would see that King Éomer was nothing like the man on her dreams.

 

Tomorrow this would end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, poor Lothíriel... If only you knew...
> 
> Next chapter... They finally meet each other. Oops...
> 
> Let me know your feelings!
> 
> xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for kudos and comments! You're the best, as always.
> 
> Sorry for going missing, but I was going crazy over the Hobbit, a video editor got involved... It was a crazy week... hahahahah
> 
> There's no smut on this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it!

Éomer felt sweat tickling down his temple and his nape. It wasn’t that hot in Gondor -or at all -but it wasn’t about the heat.

 

It was about his nerves.

 

He was about to know the truth; he was finally going to find out if he was going mad or if she -his wife -was real.

 

The king still had no idea of what he’d do if Imrahil’s daughter was the Lothíriel on his dreams. Éothain had made him promise to behave himself and it had annoyed Éomer that his friend didn’t seem convinced he would.

 

He was not a savage.

 

Éomer might not know what his reaction would be, but he wasn’t about to throw the Princess on his shoulder and carry her somewhere so he could ravish her.

 

Even if it was exactly what he wanted to do.

 

He didn’t know if she was aware of who he was. She probably didn’t.

 

Maybe Imrahil had talked about him a bit. Maybe one of her brothers had said something.

 

But then… What would they say? That he was a good fighter? That his horse was a great one? That he could drink a lot before he passed out?

 

Perhaps it was better if her brothers had never talked about him.

 

Had the Prince suggested him as a suitor for his daughters? Was she interested in meeting him?

 

Did she dream of him as well?

 

No, he wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t hope for something like this; it’d be too much.

 

If Princess Lothíriel was the one on his dreams -his wife, his queen -he’d do everything in his power to court her. Fuck, he’d woo her if he had to, he’d be the most charming suitor she’d ever had.

 

He wanted those dreams to come true.

 

They entered Minas Tirith and the people threw flowers at them. Young girls waved at Éowyn, calling her name, then giggled and blushed when she waved back. People called his name too: soldiers, common folk and a few ladies.

 

Éomer waved at the people automatically; his mind was far from there.

 

He was restless and Firefoot was sensing his uneasiness, making the horse ill at ease in turn. He had to lean forward and offer Firefoot a good pat on the neck a few comforting words. Éowyn was throwing him concerned looks, and he was pretty sure Éothain had started praying for divine intervention a while back.

 

They finally came to the seventh level of the city.

 

Éowyn was the first to dismount, her face full of excitement.

 

When Éomer’s feet touched the ground, he finally allowed himself to take a look at the welcoming party. Aragorn -or should he say Elassar? -was front and center, with Queen Arwen by his side. Faramir was beside the Queen, the biggest smile on his face; and to the King’s left…

 

It was Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth.

 

Éomer took a deep breath and let his eyes take the people with Imrahil; he immediately recognized the man’s sons -Amrothos, Echirion and Elphir. The eldest son had a woman on his arm, but Éomer was almost sure that was his wife.

 

There wasn’t anybody else.

 

Éomer’s throat was dry as he approached the others.

 

“Hail Éomer, King of the Riddermark.” Aragorn smiled to his friend and, for a second, Éomer relaxed.

 

Greetings were exchanged and Éomer tried to ignore how close Faramir was to his sister. They were to be married on five days; at this point he’d only be acting like an overprotective annoying brother.

 

“Éomer, my friend.” Imrahil patted him on the shoulder.

 

“Imrahil.” Éomer’s smile was genuine. He was quite fond of the older man.

 

“Let me introduce you to Elphir’s wife.” He indicated a woman. “This is Lady Helga. Helga, the King of Rohan, Éomer.”

 

“It’s an honor to meet you, your majesty.” She curtsied elegantly.

 

“The honor is mine, Lady Helga.” Éomer bowed to her. “Your husband spoke incessantly of you, but he failed to mention how beautiful you are.”

 

Helga snickered and elbowed her husband. “Is that so?”

 

“Stop trying to charm my wife, Éomer.” Elphir chided playfully. “And I wasn’t about to sing too many praises to my wife.” He defended himself to Helga. “What if someone tried to steal you away from me?”

 

“Oh, so now I’m a vase? Anyone can just pass and take me along?” She arched a brow at her husband.

 

Éomer had to swallow his laughter in face of Elphir’s expression. Apparently, Lady Helga enjoyed giving her husband a hard time.

 

“Amrothos, where is your sister?” Imrahil asked suddenly. “I thought she’d be here to greet our friends.”

 

Éomer tried not to react to the question, but he desperately wanted to know the answer.

 

“Am I Lotty’s keeper now?” Amrothos snorted. “I have no idea where she is.”

 

Imrahil didn’t look one bit amused by his son’s answer.

 

“She must be solving something in the house.” Helga intervened. “She’ll probably… Oh! There she is!”

 

Imrahil called to his daughter as she stepped out of the door, but Éomer couldn’t even hear the words. In fact it was as if all the noise had disappeared and he could only hear the crazy tattoo of his heart.

 

It was her. It was truly her.

 

She was real!

 

_Béma be praised!_

XxX

 

Lothíriel couldn’t believe she was late to meet the King’s delegation! Her father was going to kill her! And Elphir was likely to help.

 

In her defense, she hadn’t planned on being late; it’d been an accident. She was ready and leaving her room, but her dress got caught on a piece of furniture. She had no idea how that happened; it certainly had never happened before.

 

She heard the sound of silk being ripped, and almost couldn’t believe it. She stood there for a full minute, staring at the rip on the fabric, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

 

Then she hurried around, calling for her maid. They had to find her a new dress to wear and get her into it as fast as possible.

 

She hoped her other dress could be fixed. It was one of her favorites…

 

As it was, she put on a simpler dress -simpler than she’d have preferred to wear on such a situation -because this one was easier to lace than the others.

 

Her governess had always told her that ladies don’t run -ever! -so she hurried as much as possible down the hallways.

 

When she came to the doors, it was obvious -by the voices outside -the King was there already. Lothíriel took a deep breath, preparing her best excuses and trying to catch her breath.

 

When she decided she was ready she stepped out, and was momentarily blinded by the sun.

 

“Ah, Lothíriel, my dear. It’s good to see you.”

 

She turned to her father’s voice in a reflex. Her vision cleared, and then she saw him.

 

_He was real. He was here._

 

In the madness of finding a new dress and hurrying she’d completely forgotten about the dreams, the drawing and the name, but now…

 

He was standing right in front of her. Looking exactly like the man on her dreams.

 

Lothíriel did the worst possible thing: she fainted.

 

If her governess could see her now…

 

XxX

 

Éomer watched as the princess fell to the ground, and almost flew to her side. The only thing that prevented him from doing that was Éothain’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Easy now, mate.” His friend whispered to him.

 

Éothain was right, of course. He didn’t know the lady -not really -he had no reason to rush to her side desperately. Even if he really wanted to.

 

Amrothos didn’t have such concerns: he ran to his sister and kneeled by her, calling her name. The rest of the family followed, Faramir included.

 

“Do you think she’s sick?” Éowyn asked concerned, a frown on her face.

 

“Princess Lothíriel isn’t a woman to jut faint like that.” Arwen, who’d stayed there with them, replied. “I’ve never seen her sick.”

 

“I’ll offer a hand to Imrahil.” Aragorn decided. “Éomer, we’ll talk later.”

 

Éomer just nodded, afraid of what he’d expose if he opened his mouth.

 

Amrothos picked his sister up and followed Aragorn inside. Imrahil came to them, a fretful look on his face. “Éomer, I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind if I…”

 

“Imrahil, it’s fine.” Éomer assured him quickly. “Go see to your daughter.”

 

Imrahil thanked him and left.

 

Arwen then asked them to follow her inside, and Éomer did so without paying attention.

 

Well, this couldn’t be a good sign…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lothíriel... lol
> 
> Let me know your feelings!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay!
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments.
> 
> This chapter is really short, and I'm sorry for it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

The first thing Lothíriel thought upon reopening her eyes was that, this time, she hadn’t dreamed of _him_. The second was that the cold compress on her forehead was really soothing.

 

Then she went back to this last thought. Why did she have a wet cloth on her forehead?

 

It all came back to her at once: the dress, the Rohirrim… _Him_!

 

Oh no! She fainted in public!

 

Lothíriel sat on her bed, shame flooding her body.

 

“Lothíriel.”

 

She hadn’t seen her father, because he’d been talking quietly to Helga on a corner of the room. Now they’d both came to her side, concerned frowns on their faces.

 

“Daughter, are you alright?” Her father asked, his voice laced with concern. “You have no fever, you don’t look sick… Have you eaten today?”

 

“I…”

 

“Prince Imrahil, give her a minute, yes?” Helga cut gently. “She just woke up, she’s probably a bit confused.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Imrahil sighed. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Are you feeling better?”

 

“Yes.” Lothíriel replied softly. “I have no idea what happened. I feel perfectly fine.” She hurried to say, even as her face once again reddened in shame.

 

Helga was looking at her carefully. “You’ve been working very hard lately. You organized this wedding alone, Lothíriel.” It was a gentle reproach. “Have you been sleeping properly?”

 

No, she hadn’t, but she also couldn’t tell them why, could she? Her father didn’t deserve such a shameless daughter.

 

However, something on her face must have revealed her tiredness, because her father just sighed. “I am so sorry you felt pressured to deal with this wedding, my daughter.” He told her.

 

“No, dad!” Lothíriel hurried to stop him. “I wanted to do it. I had fun.”

 

It was true. She’d exchanged letters with lady Éowyn, researched customs from Rohan, and she got to decide on many details.

 

“Perhaps you could’ve had a bit more of help.” Helga indicated.

 

That was… True, probably. Yes, she had managed alone, but it would have been nice having a bit more of help. The problem was nobody thought to offer it, and she was scared of asking. She knew that King Elessar was a good man, but she’d lived under the rule of her uncle for too long.

 

Denethor had decided to bring her to Minas Tirith to be responsible for his household, since Imrahil had “no need of her”. This were his exact words; according to him, Imrahil didn’t need two women in the palace, and since it was Helga’s responsibility -as Elphir’s wife-, Imrahil could spare his daughter.

 

Her father had no choice; the Regent had called for Lothíriel, she had to go.

 

She learned soon that her uncle was a hard man to please; the smallest things displeased him and he considered perfection something fair to ask for. Of course, he wouldn’t throw tantrums or yell; his moods were icier than that.

 

Once she served a wine he didn’t like for dinner. After taking a sip Denethor hadn’t said a word, he just frowned, then glared at the cup. He put it away and never touched it again. He didn’t drink anything else for dinner and didn’t talk to Lothíriel for a week, like she’d tried poisoning him. She could still remember the look of disappointment on his face.

 

He expected her to always get everything right and do it all alone.

 

Maybe King Elessar was different.

 

“Perhaps.” She finally replied to Helga’s comment.

 

Imrahil sighed once again. “Denethor isn’t here anymore, Lothíriel. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

 

“I know.” Her reply was quiet. “But sometimes I forget it.”

 

Imrahil dropped another kiss to her forehead. “As soon as this wedding is finished, we’ll go back home, and you’ll be with your family.” He promised her. “For now, rest some more. I’ll talk to our friends.”

 

And just like that her calm was gone. “Lady Éowyn! The King!”

 

“Don’t worry about Kings.” Helga said before Imrahil could even open his mouth. “You need to rest and I’m sure they all have things to entertain them.”

 

XxX

 

Éomer was going mad. He didn’t think it was possible to feel like this, but he did anyway. He’d hoped to have some answers once he saw the princess, or -at least -to feel some sort of relief. He was sure that seeing her face would set him free somehow: she’d either be the woman on his dreams or not, he’d finally have peace.

 

He should’ve known better.

 

He felt worse than ever. After seeing her so many other questions had piled on his mind: was she the Lothíriel of his dreams? Did she dream about him too? Did she want to meet him?

 

But, above all else, he just wanted to know if she was fine.

 

Éomer felt doubt gawking at him, and also a lot of concern. She had fainted and apparently it wasn’t a common occurrence. Was she sick?

 

“I’ll admit… I wasn’t expecting that.”

 

Éomer snorted at Éothain’s tone. He knew very well his old friend had just been humoring him with this whole dream debacle.

 

“But let us not get ahead of ourselves.” Éothain hurried to say. “Wait to see if the scar is there.”

 

Of course, they hadn’t been close enough to see details of her face -Éomer had barely been able to see the color of her eyes. However, he didn’t need to see any scar; he’d recognized her as soon as she stepped in front of him.

 

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Éothain sighed resignedly. “Not knowing more.”

 

Éomer saw no reason to deny this. “Yes. I need to know if she’s had the same dreams, if she knows me too.”

 

Éothain snorted. “She probably did and that’s why she fainted. She saw your ugly face and realized you were real.”

 

Éothain was only jesting, trying to tease Éomer out of his mood. His words, however, had the opposite effect: they brought out all of Éomer’s insecurities.

 

He was no prince, no gentle knight, no pretty Gondorian lord.

 

Perhaps she really fainted because of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?
> 
> Also, we are on a small pause with smut... We'll get back there eventually, I promise.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be a long one: they'll finally meet and talk to each other.
> 
> Let me know your feelings!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!!!
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay with this chapter. I got caught in a million things to do this end of year before I had the Christmas break. Now I'm officially off until January 5th so I'll take advantage of it to update some things.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the amazing comments and all the kudos you guys left! I never expected to get this much love when I started writing this. I'm really happy you're all enjoying it.
> 
> Without further ado... Let's see how the first official meeting goes.

Lothíriel took another deep breath. She’d embarrassed herself enough for one day, she wasn’t about to do it again. There was a feast tonight for the Rohirrim and she was going to be on her best behavior: she’d be courteous, attentive and a perfect lady.

 

No more fainting.

 

She had no idea why she’d fainted earlier. Despite what her father and Helga thought, she wasn’t tired, not like that. She was almost sure it’d been the shock of seeing _him_ there.

 

Now, however, she was prepared. She was going to treat the King of Rohan with all the respect his station commanded.

 

She was also going to stay away from him.

 

Her father could have all the hopes he wanted, but Lothíriel couldn’t marry or be courted by the King of Rohan. Not after all those dream. If he knew, he’d think her a loose woman.

 

He could never know about the dreams.

 

_Éomer! His name is Éomer, not “he” or “him”._

She ignored the annoying voice inside her head. Enough of this madness.

 

The Princess was more careful than normal with her appearance that night; she needed to make a better second impression on the guests, since the first one had been so terrible.

 

By the time her maid had laced her on her dress, she felt somewhat in control. The dove grey dress was made especially for this day, and she felt pretty in it.

 

She wasn’t a beauty; her mother had been one, but Lothíriel took more form her father’s side -and not the charming part, like her brothers did.  She was shorter and plumper than most women in Gondor. Her curves were unfashionable, her hair too thick and hard to tame.

 

Her father always said she looked beautiful, but he was her dad, he’d say it anyway. Tonight, however, she felt confident enough.

 

Lothíriel took one last breath before leaving the room, being extra careful around all the pieces of furniture on her path.

 

“Lotty!”

 

She smiled as her brother Amrothos came towards her. “I was about to knock on your door.” He informed her. “Father asked me to accompany you to the feast.”

 

Lothíriel felt her face burning up. “I guess I deserve that for being late today.”

 

“I think he’s more concerned about the fainting.” He teased.

 

“Oh Valar. I’ve embarrassed him so much today.” Lothíriel cried. “I should stay in my room.”

 

“Hey, calm down, Lotty. I was merely jesting.” Amrothos grabbed her hand and dropped a kiss to its back. “Father is concerned, not angry.”

 

She bit her lower lip, anxiety still gnawing at her nerves, and her brother frowned. “Are you alright, Lothíriel?”

 

“I… What about the King of Rohan?” She had no idea why this came out of her mouth, but now it was too late.

 

Understanding spread through her brother’s face and Amrothos cursed in a way that would make Imrahil very upset if he’d heard it.

 

“I knew it!” He snapped. “I knew this was about that. I told father not to pressure you into accepting a suit from Éomer.”

 

That wasn’t -exactly -Lothíriel’s main concern right now, but she was surprised to see it’d been bothering her brother this much.

 

“I deeply admire him.” Amrothos was quick to say. “Éomer is a great man and all… But Rohan is so far away! And they have a different language and different costumes… You don’t even know the man! How can you even consider marrying him?”

 

By the end of his tirade, Lothíriel was watching her brother with her mouth hanging open. She hadn’t even thought of all that! She’d just been worried about doing what was expected of her as a princess, and -most recently – what the King would think if he knew about her depraved dreams.

 

She’d never thought of anything beyond that, -especially because she’d decided she wasn’t good enough for a fair king- and now her brother was making her even more nervous!

 

Just great.

 

“Amrothos.” She took his hand this time. “This isn’t the moment for this conversation.” She said urgently.

 

“You’re right.” He sighed, but squeezed her hands. “Promise me, Lotty. Promise me you won’t accept a betrothal just because you think you have to. Don’t let them force you into it, make the decision for yourself.”

 

“Amrothos…”

 

“Promise me, Lotty!” He asked, a bit too dramatically.

 

“Fine. I promise.” She assured him, more so he’d stop this bizarre conversation and they could go to the feast. She didn’t want to be late again.

 

Amrothos seemed beyond relieved by her hasty assurance, but Lothíriel would have to reflect about this conversation in some other moment.

 

Or she wouldn’t, since she already decided she wouldn’t accept the court of the King of Rohan. She’d have to be careful about it, because she didn’t want to cause any incidents between their nations, but it was clear to her they could never marry.

 

She tried to keep herself calm as Amrothos led her to the hall, where a welcome feast was being held to celebrate the festivities of the next days.

 

Even though this was supposed to be a more “intimate affair” there were still over one hundred guests to entertain and feed, and Lothíriel had spent a week organizing it all.

 

Once they entered the room, Amrothos went straight to their father, but Imrahil wasn’t alone. Lothíriel could see _him_ -it was impossible not to, he was so… big -but she chose to ignore him for now.

 

Before all this dreaming nonsense, she’d been eager to meet Lady Éowyn. They’ve exchanged many letters, since Lothíriel was organizing the wedding and Éowyn wanted to know as much as possible about the Gondorian court. The princess had wanted to know more about the woman that not only was a hero during the war, but also captured Faramir’s heart so thoroughly.

 

Éowyn was direct in a manner very similar to Helga’s and, at times, Lothíriel didn’t know how to answer to her letters, even as she found them fascinating to read.

 

Therefore, she was going to focus her attention on the White Lady.

 

As soon as her father saw her, he opened a big relieved smile, and Lothíriel hoped she wasn’t blushing again.

 

Imrahil was between the Rohirrim King and Elphir -whose arm Helga was holding. Lady Éowyn was next to her brother, and holding Faramir’s arm. And every single one of them were looking at her.

 

Lovely.

 

“My daughter.” Imrahil came closer and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

 

“Thank you, father.”

 

“Lothíriel.” Faramir hugged her. “I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

 

“I am.” She assured him quickly. “I’m sorry about the spectacle.”

 

“Don’t say that.” He chided her gently. “We were only concerned about you. Nothing else. Can I introduce you to my betrothed?”

 

“Yes, please.” She looked at Éowyn, happy to not be the center of attention anymore, and eager to finally meet the Witch King Slayer. “Lady Éowyn.” She curtsied graciously.

 

“Princess Lothíriel.” Éowyn smiled kindly at her. “It is good to finally put a face to the name.” She picked the princess’s hands between hers. “I really appreciate all you’ve done to make this wedding happen.”

 

Lothíriel fell her heart fill with elation. “It was a pleasure to me. I hope you like the results.”

 

“I’m sure I will.”

 

Lothíriel was so happy right now, feeling appreciated and close to someone. She’d been concerned that Lady Éowyn wouldn’t like her once they actually met, but now, it seemed like it would all be fine.

 

But then _he_ cleared his throat and Lothíriel went back to panicking.

 

She’d felt his eyes on her this whole time -of course she did -but she’d tried to ignore it -ignore _him_ -but now it was impossible.

 

Éowyn threw a look at her brother, then looked back at Lothíriel. “Princess, may I introduce you to my brother?” The lady’s speech was perfect, but there was a note of confusion in her voice. “King Éomer, of the Riddermark.”

 

He was there! Right in front of her.

 

For a second, Lothíriel thought she might faint again; she didn’t think she was breathing properly and her heart was beating like a battle drum.

 

She tried not to stare at him, but it was impossible: he was exactly as she remembered him. How was it possible? His eyes, his jaw, his nose… They were exactly as she’d seen in her dreams. And his mouth…

 

Valar help her! She was not thinking about that!

 

He was looking at her like she was a storm in high sea: frightening, yet beautiful. He drank her in -it was the only way to describe how he looked at her then -and something in his eyes made her believe he’d longed to see her.

 

_Like you longed for him._

 

He took a step forward. “Princess.”

 

Her mind went back to all the times he called her “princess” on her dreams: reverent whispers against her naked skin, moans of pleasure by her ear, playful growls on their bed…

 

“Your Majesty.” Lothíriel curtsied, hoping her voice hadn’t come out as breathless as she thought it did.

 

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you at last.” The King said, his eyes fixed on her, his hands firmly behind his back. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Would they ever stop asking her that? “I’m afraid I made quite the spectacle of myself today.”

 

“No.” He replied simply. “We were just really worried about you.”

 

_WE?!_

 

Éowyn was once again looking at her brother like she was trying to understand what was happening there, and Lothíriel finally remembered that her family -her father! -was watching them.

 

Oh Valar!

 

She felt her cheeks warming up, as she turned back to her father. “Father…”

 

“There will be dancing before the feast.” He cut her. “It’s about to start. Why don’t you share the first dance with Éomer?”

 

Elphir and Amrothos were looking at his father like he’d just lost his mind and Helga had an arched brow.

 

“I…”

 

“It’d be an honor to me, Princess.” Éomer offered quickly. “If you want to dance, of course.”

 

All eyes turned to her and Lothíriel wanted to curse at them all.

 

“Of course I do, Your Majesty.” She replied with a polite smile. “It’d be lovely.”

 

What else could she say? Her father had made it difficult to refuse and the King hadn’t helped at all.

 

Éomer offered his arm and they walked to the dance floor. Imrahil was beaming at them.

 

They got in position for the dance and Lothíriel started regretting it all right then. She shouldn’t be alone with this man. Not because of him -she barely knew him -but because of her and her wanton, abhorrent thoughts. She shouldn’t be allowed in polite company anymore.

 

Once the dance started, Lothíriel had to rack her mind for something to say. It was only polite to make small talk while one danced.

 

“Did you have a pleasant journey, your Majesty?” She asked, since it was a safe enough topic to begin with.

 

The king cleared his throat. “It was… Interesting, to say the least.”

 

Lothíriel wasn’t sure what that meant or how to reply to that, so she just gave him a polite smile.

 

“Are you…” He cleared his throat once more, then started anew. “Are you sure you’re alright, Princess? If you’re feeling ill, you don’t have to be here just to receive us.”

 

There was something about the way he said it… She wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but it didn’t feel like it was what he actually said.

 

“You’re very kind to be concerned, your Majesty.” She replied diplomatically, even if she was beyond tired of answering the same question. “I assure you that I’m perfectly fine.”

 

He hesitated for a second, then appeared to come to some decision. “I hope it wasn’t the sight of a bunch of riders that scared you into fainting.” He gave her a nervous grin. “I’d hate for you to think we’re that scary.”

 

Lothíriel felt her whole face heating up. “No! Of course not, your Majesty, I would never…”

 

“Forgive me, my lady.” The King hurried to say. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I apologize.”

 

He seemed too solemn for the situation, as if he was truly concerned she might be mortally offended by what he’d just said.

 

Why was this so complicated? She’d never had trouble making small talk with other lords before, why was he so…

 

_You know why._

 

Yes, she did.

 

She wanted to ask him if he’d dreamed of her too, but how could she? He would think she was crazy, at best. What if she asked and then he went and told her father?

 

No, she’d never talk about it with him. Or anyone, for that matter.

 

The song ended and Lothíriel was about to run back to her father’s side, but the King held her hand.

 

“Princess… Could I ask you to accompany me to the garden for a minute?” He asked, his eyes earnest and clear. “I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”

 

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate, your Majesty, since we’ll be… Well, alone.” She gave him an apologetic look.

 

For a minute it looked like he was about to scowl, but then he remembered she was there and relaxed his features. “Certainly there’d be no harm on standing by the entrance door with me for a while… Right?”

 

She thought about it. If they stood by the entrance doors, there would be many people around, including the guards, so…

 

“It’s fine… I think.” She bit her lower lip. “If we stay by the door.” Should she be this weak for the pleading in his eyes? This was madness!

 

“Of course.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

 

She just nodded and let him guide her outside. Lothíriel shouldn’t be doing this. They had just met. People would talk. This was a terrible idea.

 

But now they were already by the door and she couldn’t just turn around and leave.

 

“Is it alright if we go down the steps?” He asked, indicating the ten steps right in front of them. “Just so I feel that we’re not giving the guards something to speak about later?”

 

Lothíriel just nodded, conscious of the guards standing by the door, so close by. It was well lit outside and there were people milling around. It would be fine.

 

Probably.

 

As they stood there, it became more obvious how different they were: he was so tall and powerful, as if he could take on the whole world and win. He looked like a king, he had confidence on the set of his shoulders, even if his long hair and beard made him look less courtly.

 

And still… He was more appealing to her than any other chivalrous lord she’d ever met; and that was a dangerous thing to think.

 

He turned to her, his attention fully on her. “The scar on your brow… How did you get it?

 

His question caught her completely by surprise. Most people completely ignored it, since ladies weren’t supposed to have scars -even as small as hers was. Only years of hard reprimands curbed her urge to cover it as he mentioned it.

 

“I…” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him that or why he cared to know. “When I was a little girl, I was playing with Amrothos on his bedroom and I slipped and hit the corner of a table.”

 

Her brother had been desperate by the sight of the blood and her tears, and he’d run, calling for his father as if the palace was on fire. Her father had gotten to her in panic, fearing something truly tragic, and upon seeing his baby girl crying and with blood on her dress, the great prince of Dol Amroth had been aghast.

 

Her governess took over and cared for the wound, and Lothíriel was never again allowed to play with her brother without adult supervision.

 

“It’s very small.” She said, before she could stop herself, feeling the need to defend herself, even if he hadn’t actually accused her of anything.

 

“It is. But scars have stories, I was just wondering about yours.” He replied calmly, a small smile on his lips.

 

Lothíriel cleared her throat. “Was that you wanted to talk about?”

 

“No.” He shook his head, obviously trying to get his head back to where it previously was. “It’s something else.”

 

She was starting to get concerned.

 

“I want to get to know you.” He bluntly spoke, totally unconcerned with politeness rules for those things. “I want to talk to you more, my lady, have a chance to know more about you.”

 

“You should talk to my father about this, your Majesty.” She replied automatically, even as her heart went into overdrive and her head was spinning from his words.

 

He wanted to know her? What… What was that even supposed to mean?

 

“With all due respect to your father, Princess, it’s you I wish to know.” He told her, his tone warm and gentle. “The only permission I seek is yours, if you wish to concede it.”

 

She didn’t know how to answer to that! Any man who’d ever dreamed of even talking to her had always looked for her father’s approval, not hers! Of course, maybe the King already knew he had her father’s permission, and it was the only reason he was even talking to her about it, but still…

 

She couldn’t say no to him. Not like that! What if she created a political incident by hurting his pride or something?

 

Valar help her, she was…

 

“My lady.” The King called gently, before her thoughts could spin even more out of control. “I’m sorry if I was too forward with you. I really want to know more about you, but you also can tell me you’re not interested.” He told her seriously. “I will not hold it against you, or your family, for that matter.”

 

What should she do? All she’d ever learned on how to be a proper lady had never prepared her for this type of situation. He wasn’t supposed to ask her anything! He needed to go to her father!

 

She’d also just promised Amrothos she wouldn’t let anyone pressure her into anything… But he wasn’t pressuring her…

 

Was he?

 

_No, he wasn’t! You know him! You know he’s being honest!_

 

No, she didn’t know him! Those dreams were just delusions and she couldn’t think she knew anything about King Éomer just because her imagination had gone mad on her.

 

But… What if…

 

What if he was half the man she saw in her dreams? What if he was kind and loving and saw her as someone beautiful? What If he was man that could love her exactly the way she was?

 

He wasn’t asking her to marry him. He just wanted to know her.

 

“You’re not asking to court me… Are you?” She asked carefully.

 

“Not at the moment, my lady.” He replied honestly. “I want to know more about you first, and I want you to know me. But, with time, if we both agree…” He let the sentence end there, but Lothíriel understood him well enough.

 

Maybe in the future he’d court her.

 

_Hopefully, he will kiss you._

 

Valar, she was a lost cause.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, Lotty. She's freaking the fuck out and she has no idea of what to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Next chapter I'll tell Éomer's point of view of the whole thing and they'll have their first "private meeting". But this will probably only happen in January...
> 
> I wish you all a merry Christmas and a great New Year. I hope you're all with people that trully love you during this holiday season and that you're all happy and safe.
> 
> See you all soon!
> 
> Leave your comments and let me know your feelings.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I AM SO SORRY!!!
> 
> I'm pretty sure my boss has been trying to kill me. I've been working a whole lot and it's driving me insane. Unfortunately, it means I don't have time to write anything T.T
> 
> I just finished it and I am posting it, so it's not only not beta-read, I didn't check anything before posting. Only God knows what you'll find there, but let me know about any typos or glaring mistakes.
> 
> Hope you enoy it.

Éomer had agonized for hours before the feast; he’d thought of everything he could say and everything he shouldn’t.

 

He’d never spent so much time worrying about what he should wear before. Well, he’d _never_ worried at all before. But he’d wanted to impress the Princess, because as inane as Éothain’s words had been before… What if he was right? What if she had been frightened by him?

 

She was so delicate and small, he probably looked like a brute to her.

 

He wanted to get to know her, so he could have the chance of knowing if she truly was the woman on his dreams.

 

Yes, she looked like the Lothíriel he saw on those nights, but was she truly that woman? Would she love him like she did on those dreams? Would he love her back?

 

Éomer wasn’t a -complete- fool; he knew he wasn’t in love with Princess Lothíriel, he was in love with the dreams. He had no intention of talking about love with the princess, not yet. It’d be unfair and dishonest of him, but he hoped they could have that.

 

He’d fidgeted all the way to the great hall and Éowyn kept giving him confused looks. Éothain just rolled his eyes -repeatedly – as Éomer wouldn’t stop looking at the entrance.

 

And then, finally… She arrived.

 

She took his breath away. He’d thought her beautiful on his dreams, but they had nothing on reality. He couldn’t believe she was real and this bewitching.

 

Her dress made her look ethereal and pure, even though he knew -or thought he knew -exactly what was underneath it. Her hair seemed to shine in the candlelight, showing the red undertones he already knew she had.

 

He’d need strength to survive this night.

 

Especially because now Éowyn was aware that something was afoot there. He’d been way too eager to talk to the princess, and his sister would want to know why as soon as possible.

 

For this reason, he decided to enjoy the moment as much as he could with the time he had. He had a plan: by the end of the night he wanted her consent to spending more time together. He jumped too eagerly at the chance of dancing with her, and -only after -he realized that might have pressured her into accepting it, and he felt like a savage.

 

As they faced each other, he struggled with what to say to her, since the idea of small-talk always pained him.

 

Perhaps he should’ve answered better to her question about their journey to Minas Tirith, but what could he have said? That he spent the whole trip in agony because she was haunting his dreams?

 

That’d have been a disaster.

 

He’d been on edge the whole time, concerned about the smallest thing, thinking if she’d take offense and refuse to talk to him again.

 

He’d seen -in more than one occasion -the Gondorian lords using their brand of charm on the ladies of the court. Éomer and his men had watched them with amusement, finding their gallantry ridiculous.

 

But now… This was obviously what the princess was used to: the gallantry and courtly manners and easy smiles.

 

Éomer had wondered -quite deliriously -if he should act like that to impress her. However he realized he didn’t want that; he didn’t want to change who he was for her. He wanted her to like the man he was, not the mold of some Gondorian lord. The same way he hoped to like who she really was.

 

By the time he convinced her to take a short walk with him, he realized this Lothíriel wasn’t nearly as confident as the one on his dreams. She was skittish and insecure.

 

There was this thought in the back of his mind -like an old memory – that she was shy and unsure of their relationship and only time fixed that.

 

So maybe… Just maybe… They needed time together to know each other better.

 

Therefore he asked for time.

 

For a minute, he thought she’d refuse him -or faint again-, she looked uncomfortable.

 

And then… “You’re not asking to court me… Are you?” She asked carefully.

 

He had no intention of being anything but honest to her. So it was with that in mind, that he replied that no, he wasn’t. At least, no then. “I want to know more about you first, and I want you to know me. But, with time, if we both agree…”

 

He didn’t lie to her. Not for a second. Yes, there was an insane urge inside of him, begging him to court her immediately, search for a more serious engagement, but it wasn’t right.

 

Not like this. Not when she looked like she was considering running far from him as soon as possible.

 

“Princess…”

 

“I guess…” She was biting the corner of her mouth. “I think it would be… Pleasant to spend time with you.” She finally said, her whole face becoming red in the process. “I would like this. If you promise me you are not courting me.” She blurted out, then seemed to realize what she had said and become immediately even more red.

 

A bark of a laughter escaped Éomer’s mouth. “That will keep my ego in check.”

 

“Your Majesty, I am so sorry!” She hurried to say. “I never meant to imply…”

 

Éomer took her hand gently on his. “I am merely jesting, my lady. And I hope that, in time, you will feel like you can do the same with me.” He dropped a kiss to the back of her hand.

 

She was glaring at their joined hands. “That looks an awful lot like courting to me.” She murmured.

 

Éomer couldn’t contain his grin. “Don’t worry, my lady. If I start courting you, you’ll know.”

 

She blushed once again, but didn’t say anything. Éomer took her back to her father, and had no other chance to interact with her. However, he had plans to call on her father for dinner, the very next day.

 

As he predicted, Éowyn rounded him as soon as she got a chance. He’d paid too much attention to Lothíriel, when before he all but ran away from Gondorian ladies.

 

“What was that?” She asked once they were alone.

 

Éothain had made his excuses and left Éomer to his fate right after they left the ballroom.

 

Coward.

 

“What are you talking about?” He asked his sister, doing his best to act unconcerned.

 

Of course it didn’t work. Éowyn knew him better than any other person; she could see right through him.

 

Like she was doing right now.

 

“You know quite well what I’m talking about.” She put her hands on her hips. “I had no idea you were that interested on meeting princess Lothíriel.”

 

If only she knew…

 

“She’s the daughter of a very good friend. Of course I was keen on meeting her.”

 

“That’s not it.” Éowyn gave him a shrewd look. “What are you not telling me?”

 

Éomer sighed. “I… You don’t want to hear it.” He started pacing. “Béma, I don’t even want to say it. It’ll make me look like a mad man, or a fool. Perhaps a bit of both.”

 

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. He could see curiosity taking over her, and, if there was one thing he knew about his sister, it was that once she became curious, she also became relentless.

 

And he’d just piqued her interest.

 

“Did you get interested because she fainted in front of us?” She asked, somewhere between amused and genuinely curious.

 

“That’s not it!” Éomer protested. “And I didn’t say I was interested.”

 

Éowyn snorted. “With the way you were looking at her, it’s hardly necessary for you to admit anything.”

  
“The way I…” Éomer cursed. “Do you think Imrahil noticed?”

 

“Oh he did. And he loved it.” Éowyn snickered. “That man is prepared to marry his daughter to you as soon as you ask for her hand.”

 

Éomer pressed his fingers to his temples. This was a disaster. He wasn’t certain he wanted to marry the princess, and it felt wrong to string her along, especially because he was a good friend of her father and brothers.

 

“Éomer.” Éowyn touched his shoulder, a concerned frown on her face. “What is wrong?”

 

He was likely to regret this, but Éomer decided to tell her everything.

 

Of course, he cut many details from his dreams -the salacious ones -but he talked of the connection he felt during those dreams, her face, her name, the feelings…

 

“Éothain knows as well.” He finished. “Though, I’m almost certain he thinks I’m completely mad and is merely humoring me.” He sighed.

 

He was finally brave enough to look at his sister. Éowyn hadn’t opened her mouth since he started his tale, not even to ask questions. Now she was just staring at him.

 

Éomer sighed. “And now you also think I’ve lost my mind.” He deduced.

 

“Well…” Éowyn dragged the word, trying to get some time. “It’s a strange tale.”

 

Éomer groaned. “I must be mad. Completely out of mind. What was I thinking?”

 

“Calm down.” Éowyn hurried to say, once again putting herself to his side. “I didn’t say I don’t believe in you.” She indicated.

 

“Why would you believe in me?” He asked her, a sardonic smile on his lips. “I don’t believe in myself.”

 

“Because I know you are not mad.” She spoke, her voice confident, like the hand on his shoulder.

 

“You do?” Éomer scoffed. “Because I doubt it more and more.”

 

“You are not.” She insisted. “A mad man would have ignored the consequences, thrown princess Lothíriel on his horse and rode away. You haven’t done that. Yet.” She teased lightly.

 

Éomer chuckled weakly. “Éothain was worried I might.”

 

“Were you considering it?” She asked with an arched brow.

 

“For a moment.” He admitted. “But I knew I wouldn’t.”

 

“I know that too.” She assured him. “So… What are you going to do now?”

 

“I asked her to spend more time together. Get to know her.”

 

“That is a good idea.” She nodded her approval. “Do you think she dreamed of you as well?”

 

“I’ve wondered about it many nights.” He sighed, sitting on the closest chair. “If there was someone out there, sharing those dreams with me. But how could I ask her this?”

 

Éowyn hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right, you can’t.” She tapped her chin with her finger. “But I can.”

 

“What?”

 

“I can ask her.”

 

“And have she think you are mad?” Éomer threw at her dryly.

 

Éowyn rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to ask if she dreamed about being married to you.” She spoke as if he was deranged. “I’ll ask her in another way.”

 

“What way?”

 

“I’ll see that… In the morning.”

 

XxX

 

Éowyn loved her brother dearly. Even when she had nothing, she had Éomer. They were there for each other, even when time got harder and harder. Yes, she had her uncle as well, and he’d been like a father to her, but it wasn’t the same.

 

She didn’t think Éomer was mad. Stranger things had happened recently, and she’d not doubt him before she had more evidence.

 

She talked to Éothain and he told her what Éomer had told him. He admitted -begrudgingly -that the Princess was just like Éomer had described to him before they met. However, he wasn’t so keen on believing on any of this yet.

 

Éowyn was willing to believe in it all, just on the chance that her bother found his happiness, like she’d found hers.

 

She had an appointment with Lothíriel for that morning -something she failed to share with her brother -and she had every intention of prying some answers out of the girl.

 

Lothíriel was younger than Éowyn. She was soft spoken and extremely insecure. When she started corresponding with the girl, Faramir had expressed his pleasure with the situation. Apparently, the Princess didn’t have any friends among the court, because many thought her proud.

 

Éowyn realized -quickly -it wasn’t the case. Lothíriel was humble, but she felt inadequate. She spent a long time under the thumb of the mad man that her uncle was, always expecting to be criticized once again.

 

It was no surprise she was so quiet and shy.

 

Éomer had told her the woman on his dreams was anything but insecure; she was confident, beautifully so. However, Éowyn, as a woman who’d spent a long time in shadows, hiding from the view, knew what might be affecting the Princess. Loving Faramir, and knowing that he loved her back, had given her strength to be herself again. Maybe the same could happen to the Princess.

 

If she loved Éomer.

 

“Lady Éowyn.” The Princess smiled when they met after the morning meal.

 

“Please, princess, you must call me just Éowyn.” The lady of Rohan asked. “We’ll be family very soon.”

 

The Princess blushed with pleasure. “So you must call me Lothíriel.”

 

“Sounds lovely to me.”

 

They sat together for a while, and Lothíriel explained the details of the wedding to her. The princess was diligent and organized, and she’d done her best to make the ceremony perfect for Éowyn.

 

Once they finished the topic, the White Lady decided to approach another subject with her.

 

“My brother has told me he asked to spend more time with you.” She said bluntly.

 

She was already expecting the blush that covered the Princess’s face. “Yes.”

 

“And?” Éowyn prodded.

 

“I…” She looked around, like she was afraid of anyone overhearing them. “I said yes.”

 

Éowyn patted her hand. “That is good. If you are interested on that, of course.”

 

Lothíriel pressed her lips together. “It’s confusing.” She admitted.

 

“Why?”

 

“My Lady, I…” She seemed aghast.

 

“Now, none of that.” Éowyn cut gently. “I know he’s my brother, but you don’t have to worry about offending me. You can be honest. I promise not to tell him anything.”

 

Lothíriel sighed. “My father would like for us to… Well, I think he has high hopes for us.”

 

“But?” Éowyn prompted.

 

“But… My brother Amrothos and even Helga have advised me against looking for a match just to please my father.” She finally said.

 

“And they were right to do so.” Éowyn told her gently, but firmly. “Éomer wouldn’t want you to be pressured into anything, and you shouldn’t accept it either.”

 

“But it’s my duty.” She sighed.

 

“Perhaps.” Éowyn dismissed. “However, you have a loving family. I’m sure your father would not make you marry if you don’t wish to.”

 

Lothíriel started fidgeting, but Éowyn waited patiently for her to continue. “It is… Odd.” She finally said. “I was never… Nobody ever courted me before.” She admitted at last. “My uncle made it quite clear he’d be the one to choose who would court me, and nobody was good enough. Most lords kept away from me because of that.”

 

Éowyn had little sympathy for Denethor and the more she heard, the less she had.

 

“Besides, I am not very pretty, and…”

 

“Who said that?” Éowyn demanded, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

 

Lothíriel gave her a weak smile. “It’s kind of you to worry, Éowyn, but it’s just the truth. I’m too short and not slim enough for the Gondorian ideals.”

  
“That is nonsense.” Éowyn said immediately. “Beauty doesn’t come in defined standards. I find you beautiful.”

 

“Thank you.” Lothíriel replied weakly, but to Éowyn it was clear she didn’t believe her.

 

Éowyn just smiled at her once again and changed the subject. It was quite obvious she couldn’t ask her now about the dreams.

 

This was harder than it looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meeting between Eomer and Lotty was delayed in favor of Éowyn. I hope you don't mind too much. Next chapter they'll finally meet in private and Éomer is going to find out something about the princess.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Let me know your feelings!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooooo sorry for all this delay!
> 
> My life has gone crazy and I don't know what to do anymore T.T
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support and love you guys gave this story so far.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Éomer would never trust Éowyn again. She’d made assurances about what she’d find out: if Lothíriel had the same dreams, how she felt towards him, what were her thoughts on a possible courtship…

 

When his sister came back from a meeting with the Princess –one she failed to inform him it would happen-, she told him she had nothing to report. At first, Éomer thought that Lothíriel hadn’t felt comfortable confiding on Éowyn, but it soon became clear she _had_ talked to Éowyn, and it was his sister who was merely refusing to share information.

 

The weight of the betrayal was crushing.

 

Éothain was still having way too much fun with all of this, even if he insisted that it all was just a big coincidence, and Éomer was just projecting his dreams on the poor princess.

 

And though he knew it was possible that he was… He didn’t believe it, not anymore. Yes, it was possibly just a dream, but not for him. The end of the night had brought a new clarity to his mind, and he didn’t care anymore if everybody thought he was mad. He was sure it wasn’t just a dream. For him it was as certain as it could be; she was meant to be with him, the same way he was meant to be with her.

 

It was just a question of making her see that.

 

He’d have supper with Imrahil and his family that night. He wasn’t eager to face his friend –especially because of Éowyn’s comment the night before – but he did want to see the princess. He wanted to spend some time with her, get to know her.

 

The only information that Éowyn had passed along was that Princess Lothíriel had spent a long time under Denethor’s rule, and that had affected her deeply. Éomer had only heard stories about the late steward, but he could only guess what he’d put his niece through.

 

He tried to calm himself as he made his way to Imrahil’s house in Minas Tirith. He could do this. It was just supper.

 

He was received by a servant and taken to the parlor where Imrahil and his family stood waiting for him.

 

“Éomer, my friend.” The Prince clasped his shoulder. It was a relief to Éomer how his friend never treated him differently, never tried to be formal with him, just because he was now a King. “It’s a pleasure to have you here with us.”

 

“Imrahil.” He smiled. “Thank you for having me tonight.”

 

“Please.” Imrahil gave him a smile. “It’s been too long since we’ve talked properly.”

 

“That is true.” Éomer conceded, before turning and saying his greetings to the princes and Lady Helga.

 

Until he was finally able to turn to the princess.

 

She was so breathtakingly beautiful in his eyes. He could see no flaw in her, and he wished he could say those words to her. He wished he could make clear she was magnificent, no matter what people said.

 

_Not yet._

 

“Princess.” He bowed to her.

 

“Your Majesty.” She curtsied prettily, her eyes on the ground.

 

“My sister told me you spent the morning together.” He told her. “I hope it was a good morning.”

 

She raised her eyes to him, an honest smile on her face. “It was an incredible morning. Lady Éowyn is a fine friend.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Éomer smiled at her. “She considers you a friend as well, and I enjoy seeing the two of you together.”

 

She blushed, then her eyes went back to the ground. “Yes, your Majesty.”

 

Éomer leaned a bit closer to her -painfully aware that her whole family was there watching their interaction. “Now, can’t we be friends as well?”

 

Her eyes shot to his face, and a stronger blush started taking over her face. “We just met yesterday.” She indicated. “Your Majesty.” She completed quickly.

  
“You hadn’t met Éowyn before.” He indicated.

  
“But we exchanged letters.” She argued, some fierceness creeping into her voice, and Éomer was charmed by it.

 

Of course, it was then that Amrothos decided to get in the way. “How’s the visit so far, Éomer?”

 

His voice was strained, and it was obvious he said the first thing he could think about, just to break the conversation between Éomer and Lothíriel.

 

The King took a deep breath. “It’s getting better by the minute.” Let them take this in whatever way they wished.

 

XxX

 

Supper was a friendly affair for a while, but as the night carried on it became a bit strained. It was obvious that the Prince’s family was keen on observing the interaction between Éomer and the Princess. Lady Helga and Amrothos in particular, kept looking from one to the other. As time passed, the scrutiny made Lothíriel close herself more and more.

 

This wasn’t what Éomer wanted. At all.

 

He wanted to get to know her, but it was clear that it wouldn’t be possible with so many people around, even if they were her family. He needed to get her alone, but he had no idea if it was appropriate. Knowing Gondorians it wouldn’t be.

 

“Princess.” He turned to her, desperate to strike some sort of conversation. “Can you ride?”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She answered simply.

 

“Would you give my sister and me the pleasure of your company tomorrow morning for a ride?” He asked. “Faramir is coming as well, so I have to chaperone. If you were there, maybe you could keep Éowyn some company and spare me of the lovebirds.” He smiled gently at her.

 

She opened a smile and was preparing to answer, when Amrothos –damn that prick –cut again. “That’s a lovely idea. I’d love a ride in the morning.”

 

Lothíriel snapped her mouth shut again and Éomer wished he could throttle the princeling. Imrahil had other two sons, he certainly wouldn’t miss this one.

 

“You weren’t invited, Amrothos.” Imrahil indicated. “Your sister was. And I think it’s a lovely idea. She can spend a bit more time with lady Éowyn. You should go, daughter.”

 

Now they were all looking expectantly, and she seemed beyond uncomfortable and Éomer had to curse himself again for putting all the attention on her like that.

 

She looked from her father to him and Éomer gave her an encouraging smile, and she –hesitantly- smiled back. “I’d like that, Your Majesty.”

 

“It’s settled then.” Imrahil celebrated.

 

XxX

 

It seemed like an eternity later when Éomer finally got a moment alone with the princess. He was starting to think her family was playing some strange maneuvering game with them, because Lady Helga had just conspired to give them a minute. He’d spent the entire night thinking she was against Lothíriel and Éomer spending time alone, but suddenly, she convinced all of the man that the Princess should show him the tapestries of the house.

 

Éomer was confused, but he wasn’t questioning his luck.

 

There was huge tapestry in the dining room –the one they had left barely half an hour ago –that depicted the palace of Dol Amroth and the shore. It was beautiful and very well taken care.

 

“This is a piece of art.” He commented.

 

The princess was gently running her fingers over the threads. “My mother loved tapestries.” She told him, her voice soft. “She was capable of making the most beautiful of them.”

 

“Can you weave?” He asked, his eyes following her.

 

“Not as well as she could.” She replied, finally turning to him. “Nowadays I dedicate myself to preserving the ones we have.”

 

He nodded. “It’s a thoughtful work. We have many tapestries in Meduseld, but –unfortunately –they weren’t appropriately cared for in many years. Many of them are worn out.”

 

She was frowning. “That’s sad.”

 

He had to clench his hand from preventing from reaching out and smoothing her frown. “It is. They tell the story of our people.” He turned his eyes to the sea scene in front of them. “In the King’s chamber… My room…” He corrected himself. “There’s a tapestry that is bigger than this one. It takes a whole wall. It’s worn as well, but it’s my favorite. It has Béma in it; he’s astride his horse Nahar…” He sighed.

 

“He’s guiding the herd of Meharas into Edoras.” Lothíriel whispered beside him, her voice absent-minded.

 

Éomer felt his heart lose a beat, as he turned to her. “How do you know that?”

 

The princess looked at him, shock clear in her eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “I…”

 

“You’ve seen it.” He murmured in awe.

 

“I’ve never been to Rohan.” She hurried to say.

 

“No. But you’ve seen it anyway.” Hope was growing on his chest like an open flame on dry straw. “You saw it on a dream.”

 

The princess paled suddenly, and Éomer feared he pushed too hard and she was about to faint.

 

He shouldn’t have worried; she just turned her back and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW HE KNOWS!!
> 
> Oh Lord, here we go.
> 
> Next chapter: the dreams are back, but not the way they were before. And we have... A kiss ;)
> 
> Let me know how you feel about this chapter!
> 
> I'm planning some naughty Eomer/Lothiriel fanfictions, because I think I enjoy these two being naughty so... Might have one ready soon enough.
> 
> xoxo


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!!!!
> 
> I swear I'm alive and haven't abbandoned this work! I am so sorry for all the delay.
> 
> I thank you all for the kudos and comments that kept on coming. Having your support is always greatly appreciated.
> 
> We're back on business, but not everyhting is flowers...

Lothíriel had barely slept the night before.

 

_He knew about the dreams!_

_He knew it!_

 

Which meant…

 

_Oh no! He had the same dreams._

And if he had the same dreams he knew she was a wanton woman, he knew of the shameful things she’d said and done in those dreams.

 

How was any of this possible? She hardly could wrap her mind around the fact that she’d been having those dreams, but now that the King was in the middle of it…

 

What could she do?

 

She watched as the sun rose, and she knew she’d have to start getting ready soon: she needed to break her fast with her family, before meeting the King and the others for their ride.

 

Last night, after Éomer King talked about the dreams, Lothíriel had hurried back to where her father was, and told Amrothos that Éomer was looking for him. Her brother seemed confused by that -she couldn’t judge him for it, since it was a lie -but he went anyway.

 

Her father had asked her if she was fine, and she said she was, but also excused herself quickly. She wished she could go to her room and lock the door, however it would be rude of her to not be there when the King left.

 

Fortunately, they weren’t left alone again, and when she said goodbye to him, the King seemed recovered from the shock of earlier. He did remind her they were going on a ride the next morning…

 

She wished she was the type of lady that could pretend to be sick to be relieved of her duties. If she was a good liar, she could escape the situation.

 

But she wasn’t. Lothíriel was a terrible liar.

 

There was nothing left to do, but go riding with them. At least, she was there to keep company to Éowyn, so her contact with the King would be minimal.

 

_His name is Éomer. Not “King”._

 

She truly hated this voice in her head.

 

When her maid came into the room to help her get ready for the day, Lothíriel had already brushed her hair and selected a riding habit. Once she was dressed, she joined her family.

 

The most surprising presence at the table was Amrothos; her brother hardly ever woke up this early, unless he had something urgent to do. They had a pleasant meal and, by the end of it, her father reminded her she had to meet the King and his sister.

 

She hadn’t forgotten it.

 

When she was about to leave, Amrothos offered to walk her to the stables. She thought it was strange, but she took his arm as they made their way there.

 

“I talked to Éomer yesterday.” He said, once they were far enough from the house.

 

Lothíriel felt her heart miss a bit. What had they talked about? The King would never…

 

“He told me he’s concerned you’re being pressured into spending time with him or accepting his court.” Amrothos continued, not noticing her panic. He sighed. “He also told me he finds you an enchanting woman, and that he’d like to get to know you better, but he thinks you’re pushing yourself to be in his presence.”

 

That made Lothíriel stop and look at her brother. “What?”

 

“He told me you two talked on the ball, and that he said all of this to you.” Amrothos explained to her. “But he still is under the impression that you only spend time with him because you think you have to. And he doesn’t want that.”

 

“It’s more complicated than that.” Lothíriel sighed. She couldn’t explain her dilemma to her brother. She couldn’t explain it to anyone.

 

“I know I told you not to hurry into anything with Éomer.” Amrothos pressed on. “And I stand by what I said, but… It seems I’ve forgotten that Éomer is a great man.” He gave a dry laugh. “If there’s anyone I can trust and is not family, it’s him. I still don’t think you should accept courting him or anything, it’s too soon, but if you have to consider someone… He’s a good man.”

 

“I know.” Lothíriel murmured. She knew it. And this was part of the problem: he deserved better than her, so much better.

 

It wasn’t only because of her dreams -which were already a big problem. She was average in everything, plain in looks, she could barely talk to him.

 

He had to see there were better options. She was going to show it to him today.

 

“And if you honestly don’t want to spend time with him, just say so.” Amrothos was still talking. “He won’t be offended, he will appreciate the honesty.”

 

Lothíriel just nodded and smiled. Her brother could hardly understand, and she could hardly explain.

 

XxX

 

Maybe she should’ve known it’d never be that easy for her. Since those damned dreams began, nothing was ever simple again. Why would a ride with the King of Rohan be simple?

 

 _It had_ started simple enough: Éowyn seemed genuinely happy to see her and so did Faramir. The King had been respectful, but he’d kept his distance and Lothíriel -foolishly -let her guard down.

 

They went out for their ride, a few guards ahead, a few behind, but with enough distance that they could all enjoy the somewhat private time.

 

And for the first hour it was exactly what they did: Éowyn and Lothíriel rode ahead of the men, talking about many things. Lothíriel had thought Éowyn would want to talk more about the wedding, but the shieldmaiden affirmed she trusted Lothíriel and there were other things to discuss.

 

Éowyn made her what it looked like a million questions. She wanted to know about everything: Lothíriel’s favorite color, food, time of the year. Did she enjoy horses? What was the sea like? Could she swim?

 

Lothíriel answered every question, then tried to ask Éowyn things, but the White Lady was decided to interrogate the princess. Lothíriel had hardly ever -if ever -spoken so much about herself. It was bit strange and she didn’t want to have that much attention on herself.

 

“I feel like I’ve spoken too much.” She said at some point.

  
“Well, I asked you a lot.” Éowyn shrugged. “I’m happy to have this opportunity to know you better.”

 

Something on Lothíriel’s chest felt lighter, but at the same time… “Why?” She asked confused.

 

“I beg your pardon?” Éowyn turned to her, a puzzled look on her face.

 

“Why do you want to know me better? I…” She sighed. “I’m nothing special.”

 

Éowyn stopped her horse, making the princess do the same. She reached across the distance to grasp Lothíriel’s hand. “You are. I don’t know why you can’t see it, but you did a lot for this city, for your family. Don’t let a ghost tell you differently.”

 

“The ghost isn’t the only one speaking.” She admitted before she could stop herself.

 

“I don’t think you father…”

 

“No, not father.” Lothíriel shook her head. “When I was younger, and my body started to…” She took a deep breath. Why was she telling Éowyn this? But she couldn’t stop. “My body started to show, my governess told my father I was getting fat and I would marry never because of that. He had no idea what to do with a girl, so he trusted her to take care of me. My aunt Ivriniel personally chose her, so she had to be good…”

 

“What did she do to you, Lothíriel?” Éowyn asked gently.

 

“Nothing. She was just trying to help me.”

 

“Lothíriel…”

 

“She regulated my food.” The princess finally said. “A lot. To make sure I wouldn’t put on more weight.”

 

“That’s horrific! You  were a child!” Éowyn protested.

 

“I didn’t last long. I fainted one day, and my father was furious, and that stopped.”

 

“But not furious enough to get rid of that woman.” Éowyn accused.

  
“He did the best he could.” Lothíriel defended.

 

“Perhaps he did, Lothíriel, but you’re the one who paid the price.” Éowyn insisted. “You are beautiful and kind and smart. It pains me that you can’t see this.”

 

“You barely know me.” Lothíriel indicated.

 

“I’ve heard so much about you from Faramir, and I’ve formed my own opinion through our letters.” Éowyn’s hand was still holding hers. “I believe you’re a great woman, that has much to give. Please, don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

 

XxX

 

When they finally returned to the stables, Lothíriel was more than ready to return to her home. Things had been successful to that point and she had no wish to press her luck.

 

She should’ve remembered that Fate currently hated her and was conspiring to drive her mad. As soon as she turned around to say her goodbyes to Éowyn, she realized the lady was long gone, and so was Faramir.

 

She was alone with Éomer.

 

He’d been patiently waiting for her at the entrance of the stables, in a way that made it a bit obvious that it was on purpose and, very likely, helped by Éowyn.

 

“Your Majesty.” She spoke softly as she approached him.

 

Éomer sighed. “Are we back to formalities?” He asked her.

 

“I think it’s better this way, Your Majesty.” She replied, eyes on the ground.

 

Éomer sighed once more and started pacing. Lothíriel wanted to look at him, see his face, but she was scared of what she’d see if she did.

 

“Princess.” He finally stopped, marching up to her until he was close. Way closer than was appropriate, considering they were alone. “I can’t go on like this. I’m sorry. I know your people already think we Eorlingas are savages, and maybe I’m giving credit to it, but…”

 

He stopped talking and Lothíriel tensed, waiting for him to continue.

 

She was shocked when she felt his fingers on her chin, tipping her head back. This was scandalous! If someone saw it they’d both be in trouble.

 

“Lothíriel… I need to know if I’m mad.” He told her, his eyes earnest and intense on hers. “Yesterday you said something… I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks and I thought I’ve lost my mind…”

 

“You dreamed too?” She asked before she could stop herself.

 

Éomer froze for a second, eyes filling with shock, then relief, then wonder.

 

“You were dreaming of me, weren’t you?” He finally asked, his hands cupping her face. “you saw yourself as my wife, my queen.”

 

“I…” The words were stuck in her mouth. “I was…”

 

“I saw you many nights.” He carried on. “And the thought of you made the world bearable again.”

 

“It was just a dream.” She finally said. “We were just dreaming. We don’t…”

 

“But you felt it too.” He insisted. “You felt the emotions too, didn’t you? Every kiss, every word, every touch…”

 

Standing before him as she was now, she couldn’t lie to him. “I did.” She admitted in a murmur. “I felt it all.”

 

“Then why hide it?” He wanted to know.

 

“Because that’s not me.”

 

Éomer brushed his thumb gently across her cheekbone. “What if it is?”

 

Lothíriel still hadn’t thought of an answer when he leaned in and kissed her. She’d never been kissed before, and she didn’t know what to expect. But she’d dreamed many times of kissing him and the reality of it…

 

It was just as she remembered. His lips, his taste, the feel of his beard against her skin… It was like coming home after a long day, it was like finding a piece of oneself… It felt right.

 

And it should’ve been enough. It should’ve been a sign that this was truly fated and this was why she had those dreams.

 

But… Did he love her? Was he only interested on her because of those dreams?

 

What if his only interest was on the wanton woman he saw when he closed his eyes?

 

Lothíriel pushed him away. “No!” She protested, even as her eyes filled with tears. “Those are just dreams. They won’t ever be real.”

 

“Lothíriel…”

 

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you anymore!” She threw at him before running away from him.

 

Princesses didn’t run. Princesses didn’t yell at anyone, much less Kings. Princesses didn’t have the luxury of being emotional, because they had images to keep.

 

Lothíriel wasn’t a princess just them. She was just another lost person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said the dreams would be back this chapter, but it didn't fit well with this, so I decided to save it for the next chapter.
> 
> There was angst here and there will be even more the next chapter. Sorry to say so, don't kill me!
> 
> Let me know your feelings!
> 
> xoxo


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRAISE THE LORD I AM BAAAAAAAACK!
> 
> I am so absolutely sorry. I hope you hadn't thought I'd given up on this story. I promise I didn't, but many things happened in the last months, and writing became amazingly complicated at some point...
> 
> Anyway. I want to say thank you for all the support you've given me all this time.
> 
> This chapter is mostly talking and emotions, but I hope you enjoy it.

_“Éomer, do not go!”_

_He turned to her and sighed, clearly as tired of this conversation as she was; but apparently not tired enough to stay._

_“Lothíriel, we had this conversation before.” He spoke, trying to keep calm. “I have to…”_

_“You’re the King of the Mark!” She protested. “You don’t have to do anything! Especially go out on a raid when we know there were attacks. You don’t even know what you’re going to face; it could be orcs, but it could easily be Dunlendings. You know some of them are not happy with the talks of peace.”_

_“I cannot stay behind walls when my people are in danger!” He finally exploded._

_“I’m not saying to forsake your people, Éomer.” She cried frustrated. “But you should wait here in Edoras until there’s more information. You cannot leave here blind, especially because you do not have an heir!”_

_“Exactly because I’m the King I am going.” He pushed, through greeted teeth. “The Kings of Rohan do not hide behind their walls. A concept maybe unknown to the men of Gondor.”_

_Lothíriel took a deep breath. They’d been at this argument for a long time and she didn’t want to truly fight with her husband. “It’s not about hiding, Éomer. And the men of Gondor know when it’s necessary to be sensible and wait before acting.”_

_The moment she finished her sentence she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Éomer went rigid all over, his nostrils flaring. “If you miss the men of Gondor so much…” He started. “Why are you here?”_

_Lothíriel felt like she was slapped. Éomer knew she’d had a hard time in Gondor, he knew she’d never felt truly free until she came to Rohan… And now he was telling her this?_

_However, as she recoiled from his words, Éomer seemed to realize what he’d just said. His whole face reflected his shock at his own words._

_But it was too late; he’d said them already._

_“Lothíriel…” His voice was full of regret as he took a step forward, hand raising on her direction._

_But he’d said it already, and if he did, it was because the thought had been around his head._

_Lothíriel gave her back to him and left._

XxX

 

Lothíriel woke up crying on her pillow, her body shaking with the force of her sadness. Her maid, who’d been preparing her clothes for the day, was shocked by the sight and left the room asking for help.

 

The princess just cried harder.

 

XxX

 

_He knew she was angry at him, and -perhaps -she had every right to be. He’d said things he shouldn’t have; his temper had betrayed him again._

_He’d chosen the words he knew would hurt her; he’d promised her she would always be welcome in the Mark, he knew she didn’t miss Gondor at all._

_He would make it right, he vowed to himself. He needed to solve this situation on the borders first, then he would talk to her and apologize. He would do it now, he truly would, but he needed to go._

_“Lothíriel.” She’d come to see him off when he asked her to; he had to count this as a victory._

_She was by the stairs as his whole éored waited for him to leave._

_“We will talk when I get back.” He promised her, then kneeled, waiting for her to give him her blessing to go, as it was customary for the Queen._

_“You want to go?” She told him, her voice firm. “You go. But you are not taking my blessings with you, Éomer King.”_

_“What?” Éomer gasped._

_“I will not pretend that I am alright with this idea.” She informed him. “You can go, because I cannot stop you, but I will not bless this. We will talk when you came back.”_

_And for the second time in less than a day, she turned her back and left him._

XxX

 

Éomer was not a child to have a temper tantrum, but that did not save the pitcher close to his bed from flying across the room. Apparently, the dreams had finally turned into nightmares.

 

XxX

 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, my Lady. The Princess won’t stop crying.” The maid told Lady Helga nervously. “I came to wake her up and found her like this, and she won’t stop.”

 

Lady Helga was concerned, seriously concerned. She’d known Lothíriel for many years, and she wasn’t a person to complain, much less cry in that way. Helga couldn’t even remember the last time she saw Lothíriel crying.

 

“Thank you for letting me know.” She told the maid, before dismissing her and entering Lothíriel’s room.

 

It was easy to find her, since she was lying on her bed, hiding her face on the pillow and crying so much her shoulder shook with it. Helga became even more concerned.

 

“Lothíriel, what is wrong?” She asked urgently, sitting beside the crying girl, putting her hand on her shoulder. “Lothíriel, please, I am truly concerned now, I have never seen you like this.”

 

“It is terrible…” Lothíriel said in between tears, her voice somewhat muffled by her pillow.

  
“What is terrible?” Helga was starting to panic.

 

“The dreams… And the real life… I think I ruined it all.” Lothíriel cried, lifting her face just to say these words before sinking her head on her pillow again.

 

Oh no… She was delirious. Was she sick? Maybe this was a high fever or something… It would explain the crying.

 

The door of the room banged open, and Lothíriel and Helga jumped in fright, even as Éowyn came into the room. “What happened between you and Éomer?” The White Lady of Rohan demanded.

 

A maid came running right after her. “I am so sorry, Lady Helga! She just barged into the house…”

 

“It is fine.” Helga turned to Éowyn. “What did you just say?”

 

“Éomer is…” She finally turned her eyes to Lothíriel. “Are you crying? Oh, Béma! What happened? He won’t tell me.”

 

“Wait. She is like this because of your brother?” Helga got up from the bed. “I don’t care that man is a King, if he has behaved in an improper way with her…”

 

“He would never!” Éowyn protested. “But they clearly had some type of argument…”

 

“What has Éomer told you?” Lothíriel wanted to know.

 

“Nothing!” Éowyn cried out, somewhat frustrated. “That’s the problem. He’s in a foul mood, but I don’t know why, and I think it has something to do with you.”

 

“Well, if it his problem…” Helga started, but Éowyn ignored her.

  
“He was going to talk to you about the dreams…”

 

“You know about the dreams?” Lothíriel shrieked, clearly alarmed. “I cannot believe he told you!”

 

“That is enough!” Helga finally snapped. “Quiet! Both of you! We are ladies! We do not scream like this. We have civilized conversations.”

 

That made both ladies quiet.

  
“Now…” Helga cleared her throat and smoothed out her dress. “What are you two talking about? What dreams?”

 

And that was when Lothíriel started crying again.

 

Helga and Éowyn exchanged looks that were concerned, but still managed to come across as slightly annoyed.

 

“Lothíriel...” Éowyn called softly, “Can I tell Helga what I know?”

 

The princess sniffed, but eventually nodded.

 

Éowyn was convinced her brother had edited a part of his dreams when he told them. That suspicion was confirmed by Lothíriel’s concern over what she was saying. However, Éowyn kept the story simple: Éomer had mysterious dreams before arriving in Minas Tirith, he recognized Lothíriel as the woman he called wife in those dreams, and -finally -that he’d confirmed that the princess had similar dreams.

 

“I can’t believe he told you.” Lothíriel sniffed.

 

“He didn’t tell me in detail, Lothíriel.” Éowyn assured her. “I think he knows these dreams are personal and belong only to the two of you.”

 

The princess sighed.

 

“Did you really dream about him as well?” Helga asked carefully.

 

“I did.” Lothíriel confirmed. “Almost every night until he got here. And as soon as he arrived… I recognized his face.”

 

Helga didn’t know what to say. “This is quite the tale.”

 

“You think I am mad.” Lothíriel concluded.

 

“Not at all.” Helga assured her. “Many things happened in the last years, many things stranger that than. Besides, I heard that Boromir and Faramir also had strange dreams sometimes. Maybe it is a family thing.”

 

Lothíriel sighed.

  
“Why were you crying?” Helga pressed once again. “Did you two have a fight?”

 

“We didn’t fight.” Lothíriel finally admitted. “He did talk to me about the dreams, but… I am different in those dreams.”

 

“What do you mean?” Helga wanted to know.

 

“I am confident, and fearless and… Beautiful.” She finished quietly. “But those are dreams! I am nothing like that, and if he’s looking for that woman in those dreams… It is not me. Not really. And then… Last night… I had a dream where we fought, and I felt hurt by what he’d said, like it had really happened.”

 

Helga paused for a second to think this through. “So you are worried he only wants you because of the woman you are in his dreams.” She concluded. “The fearless woman you don’t think you are.”

 

“I know I am not.” Lothíriel sniffed.

 

Helga bit her lower lip. “Lothíriel… Do you remember when your brother and I started courting?”

 

“Yes.” She answered, not knowing where this conversation was going.

 

“Do you remember how he was before?” Helga insisted.

  
“He was a very serious young man.” Lothíriel confirmed.

 

“He was always concerned about being proper heir to your father.” Helga told her. “He carried a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and he wanted to prove he was worthy. In the beginning, I feared that -because of that -he would listen to the others, and choose another bride. However, for the first time in his life, he refused to do what was expected of him, he chose me and he kept me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Yes, but what happened after that?” Helga pressed.

 

“He…” And then, Lothíriel understood. “He changed.”

 

“He did.” Helga nodded. “He’s still serious and mindful of his responsibilities, but once he learned that he’s allowed to want things, he became a bit more relaxed. He learned to smile more, and rest more. He learned to lean on other people as well.”

 

Now even Éowyn was paying close attention to this conversation.

 

“And I love him dearly, I can’t imagine my life without him, or being with another man. However, that doesn’t mean our life is perfect. We fight sometimes and say things that hurt each other. Loving someone doesn’t guarantee things will always be perfect, but you can’t give up after one fight. You have to apologize, or make him apologize and carry on, because love is what matters.”

 

Lothíriel was quiet for a second.

 

“You never felt welcome here.” Helga continued. “There is so much pressure on you to be something, to fit a mold, and that doesn’t make you happy. Perhaps, the woman you see in your dreams, is a Lothíriel that had the chance to grow and thrive in a place that received her better, with a man that loves her.”

 

“But you can’t know that for a fact.”

 

Helga chuckled softly. “Nobody can. Everything we do has risks, and nothing in this world can guarantee you happiness or love. But some people are worth the risk. You got a unique chance to see a potential future with a man that might love you and cherish you one day. Isn’t that worth fighting for?”

 

“But… What about the other…” Lothíriel blushed fiercely. “What about the things that happen in those dreams?”

 

Helga arched a brow. “You didn’t just dream you were kissing, did you?”

 

Lothíriel shook her head.

 

Helga chuckled. “I know they say a lot of things to us ladies; we believe we have to be chaste and pure and have no desire, but let me tell you: that’s a lie. We can desire as passionately as men. And there’s nothing wrong with enjoying what happens between you and your future husband. I enjoy laying with mine quite a lot.”

 

“Helga! That is my brother!” Lothíriel protested.

 

Helga just laughed. “I am just saying that it is good that you got to see what waits for you, and that you enjoy it.”

  
“I didn’t say I do!” Lothíriel protested.

 

“You just did, darling.”

 

Helga and Éowyn chuckled as the princess blushed again.

 

“What should I do?” Lothíriel asked.

 

“Talk to him.” Éowyn spoke up. “Éomer often worries about not being worthy of being King, and he tries to hold everything inside. But he still values honesty, and if you talk to him and tell him the truth, why you’re scared, he will listen. Please, talk to him.” Éowyn asked, grabbing Lothíriel’s hand.

 

“The most important thing you have to understand, Lothíriel, is that you don’t have to marry him. If you don’t wish to do it, nobody will force you.” Helga pointed out.

 

“Éomer himself wouldn’t want that. I told you this before.” Éowyn reminded her. “Just talk to him.”

 

Lothíriel sighed, then took a deep breath. She could talk to him. They needed to talk and understand each other. One way or another, they needed to fix this situation.

 

“I will talk to him.” She decided.

 

“And I know how to get you two some privacy to do it.” Helga said, but the mischief in her eyes wasn’t exactly reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...
> 
> The talk. Some kissing aaaaaaaaaaaaaand... Well, let's see ;)
> 
> Let me know your feelings!

**Author's Note:**

> So...
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> Also, this wasn't beta read and English isn't my first language. I hope it wasn't terrible to read (grammatically speaking) but let me know if I made too many mistakes.


End file.
